Chapter 29

29

Mason

The kitchen was a battlefield of color and joy, Abby’s laughter the perfect soundtrack. I balanced on a chair, stretching to hang the “Welcome Home” banner across the window, the morning sun throwing a cascade of light onto the freshly cleaned countertop.

“Higher, Daddy!” Abby commanded, her little hands firmly planted on her hips, a bossy little foreman.

“Can’t get much higher without sprouting wings,” I chuckled, securing the ends with a bit of tape.

“Looks good,” I said, stepping down and surveying the room through her proud gray eyes—eyes that saw magic in the mundane.

“Chloe’s gonna love it!” Abby clapped, hopping around the table draped in a kaleidoscope of plates and napkins she’d chosen herself—one pink, one blue, no two the same.

“Sure will, jellybean.” I ruffled her curls, heart swelling at the thought of Chloe seeing it all.

I picked out a tune, some old country song my grandad used to sing. It hummed in my throat as I filled the vase with water, arranging the fresh flowers we’d picked up from Eryn’s stand. Daisies, sunflowers, a few sprigs of baby’s breath. Simple. Bright.

“Like a garden!” Abby squealed, nose buried in the blooms.

“Exactly like a garden,” I agreed. The scent of spring filled the room.

“Careful now, don’t want you sneezin’ all over the place before Chloe gets here,” I teased, but damn if I wouldn’t welcome even that. A sign of life, of family.

“Is she gonna stay forever, Daddy?” Abby asked, peeking over the rim of the vase with eyes wide and hopeful.

“Hope so, Abby. I really do.” The words were soft, more prayer than promise. But they were true. Every single one.

The kitchen looked ready. Ready for laughter, stories, new memories. Ready for Chloe. Abby’s excitement was catching, and I couldn’t help grinning like a fool.

“Any minute now,” I whispered. Abby nodded, her small hand finding mine, squeezing tight. We were a team, the two of us. And soon, hopefully, there’d be three.

Abby tugged at the hem of my shirt, her small fingers curled with urgency. “Daddy, daddy, can we make pancakes for Chloe? She loves ‘em!”

“Sure thing, bug.” I chuckled, reaching for the flour and eggs. “Pancakes it is.”

Her face lit up like the Fourth of July as we gathered everything we needed. Milk, butter, and vanilla joined the lineup on the counter. She bounced on her toes, ready to dive into our culinary adventure.

“Big scoop, Daddy!” she instructed, as I measured out the flour, watching her sprinkle in a pinch of salt with exaggerated care.

“Perfect,” I said, whisking the dry ingredients before making a well in the center. Abby poured in the milk, a bit splashing over the side, but that was part of the fun.

“Oopsie daisy!” she giggled, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Adds character,” I agreed, winking at her.

With the batter smooth and ready, I ladled it onto the hot griddle, the sizzle filling the kitchen with a warm, homely sound. As the edges bubbled and the aroma of cooking pancakes filled the air, I leaned against the counter, watching the golden circles form.

We’d come a long way since Chloe’s rescue. From the endless nights of worry to the first time she smiled again, each moment stitched into the fabric of our lives. And now, here we were, our little family growing, healing together. She was due to move out of the cottage and into our home officially today.

Cementing us as a family.

I flipped a pancake, lost in thought. Whittier Falls, always a place of refuge, had become something more—a home, not just for Abby and me, but for Chloe too. Her laughter, once rare and precious, had begun to echo through the halls more freely.

“Is it ready yet?” Abby’s voice pulled me from my reverie, her eagerness contagious.

“Almost, kiddo.” I plated the first few pancakes and glanced at the clock. Any minute now, Chloe would walk through that door, and I couldn’t stop the swell of anticipation in my chest.

“Wait ’til she sees this.” Abby beamed, and I nodded, my heart agreeing with every unspoken word.

“Best welcome home breakfast ever,” I promised, and it wasn’t just about the food. It was about us—all of us—finding our path forward, together.

Abby’s little fingers worked the crisp white napkin with a furrow of concentration etching her brow. “Daddy, watch!” Her voice was a whisper of excitement, a conspiratorial giggle barely contained as she manipulated the fabric.

“Show me, bug,” I said, leaning against the counter, my arms crossed in anticipation.

With one last deft twist, she transformed the square into an intricate flower, petals fanned out like a blooming lily. She placed it gently beside the colorful plate designated for Chloe, her small face beaming up at me, seeking approval.

“Look at you, Abby. That’s beautiful.” The pride in my voice wasn’t just for show. She had that creative spark just like Abby, turning simple things into something special. A pang hit my chest, but I pushed it away. Today was about beginnings, not worryin’ about the unknown.

“Chloe’s gonna love it,” Abby declared, dusting off her hands as if she’d just completed a masterpiece. And honestly, to me, that’s exactly what it was.

“Love is all about the details, huh?” I ruffled her hair affectionately, the curls bouncing back immediately, untamed as her spirit.

“Yep, and now she’ll have to smile,” she nodded with the certainty only a six-year-old could muster.

I checked the clock above the stove—nearly time. She’d been going to therapy twice a week downtown, and participating in Walker’s Equine Therapy. It had been all been doing a world of good, but both of us could tell that her newfound bond with the horses was healing parts of her she thought were long-broken.

I knew it was still gonna take time to get past all that had happened, but I was here with her for the long haul, and I wanted her to know it.

The seconds ticked by, each one dragging with the weight of expectation. My heart thrummed a nervous beat. God, it felt like waiting for the curtain to rise on opening night—not that I’d ever been on stage, but the butterflies must be similar.

“Come here, Abby.” I motioned her over to the door where we could peer out the window, the morning sun casting long shadows on the porch.

“Is it time?” she asked, eyes wide, stuffed rabbit clutched in her embrace.

The gravel crunched outside, a telltale sign that cut through the stillness of our wait. Abby’s grip on her rabbit tightened, eyes sparking with a mix of delight and disbelief.

“Is that—” Her words hung mid-air, unfinished but understood.

“Sounds like it,” I replied, setting her down gently. We shared a look, one of those silent conversations where everything’s said without a single word.

I moved toward the door, feeling my own pulse pick up its pace, a drumbeat to the moment we’d all been holding our breath for. As I reached for the handle, the world seemed to pause, suspended in a bubble of anticipation.

“Here we go,” I whispered more to myself than to Abby, and swung the door open.

Chloe stood there, framed by the bright morning light as she looked around the kitchen. For a second, no one moved.

“Welcome home, Chole!” Abby shouted, her glee uncontainable.

“Wow,” she breathed out, and the sound went straight to my heart.

“Welcome home, Chlo.” My voice was steady, but my insides were doing somersaults at the sight of her—blonde hair catching the sun, blue eyes brighter than any sky.

Her gaze swept across the room, lingering on the banner that declared in bright, bold letters her return to us. The flowers caught her eye next, their colors vibrant against the backdrop of our rustic kitchen. And then, her gaze landed on the table, the plates and napkins a kaleidoscope of welcome.

“You guys did this . . . for me?” It wasn’t just her voice that trembled—it was her whole frame, vibrating with unspoken emotions.

“Of course,” I confirmed, pride swelling in my chest.

Her lips parted, and the tears that welled up in her eyes reflected every ounce of love we’d poured into this surprise. She stepped inside, crossing the threshold into a new chapter—one filled with the promise of healing and the warmth of family.

“Thank you,” she managed, her voice a whisper of awe.

“Chloe, there’s pancakes,” Abby piped up, breaking the spell as she tugged at Chloe’s hand, eager to show off our culinary masterpiece.

“Best in Whittier Falls,” I added with a wink.

Chloe laughed through her tears, and in that sound, I heard the beginning of something beautiful.

Abby’s little arms were a flurry of motion, launching herself at Chloe with the kind of abandon only a six-year-old can muster.

“This is such a warm welcome.” Chloe’s words quivered like leaves in a gentle breeze, each syllable laced with gratitude and something deeper, something akin to wonder. As she hugged Abby back, her eyes met mine over the top of my daughter’s curly head, shining with unshed tears and a vulnerability that tugged at my heartstrings.

Couldn’t help it—I wrapped my arms around them both, pulling us into a group embrace that felt as natural as breathing. Abby’s giggles bubbled up between us, and I felt Chloe relax into the hug, her tension melting away as if our kitchen was a sanctuary made just for her .

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” I whispered, knowing full well the power of a family hug.

“Like nothing else,” Chloe murmured back, her voice barely audible but ringing with truth.

We stood there, the three of us in a tangle of limbs and love, the morning sun casting a golden glow over the scene. The pancakes could wait; this moment couldn’t. It was the start of something new, something real.

Home. Family. Us.