She noticed. “If you’re not sure, that’s okay. We’re not trying to trap anyone here. Just offering space.”

I stared out the window. My thoughts scattered in all directions, but none of them formed anything that felt like a clear path. At nineteen, I didn’t feel old enough to know what the hell I was doing. I didn’t have a plan. Hell, I could barely decide what I wanted for lunch, let alone map out the next few years.

I didn’t know if love was ever coming back…

But I was tired of waiting for something to happen. So I said, “When do I start?”

She beamed. “Right now, if you want.”

And just like that, I was no longer a runaway girl hiding behind an espresso machine. If the universe wanted to gift me five thousand dollars and an office job wrapped in rose-gold office chairs and encrypted passwords, I wasn’t going to argue.

“Okay,” I said, with a smile, my voice quiet but sure. “I’m in.”

Maxine grinned and reached out to shake my hand again. “Welcome to ChimeIn.”

53

BLAKE, 2001

20 years old

The sunlight hit just right this morning—filtered through the cracked window, as if it knew I was finally allowing myself to sleep in. My alarm never went off. On purpose. I had turned it off last night, my fingers heavy with the kind of exhaustion that could only be earned.

Outside, the street was quiet. A rare thing in this part of the city. A dog barked once. A car passed with music low enough to barely register. I leaned back into the worn black cushion of the armchair I’d dragged in from a thrift store last fall. Still creaked when I sat in it. Still smelled like lavender and dust.

I thumbed my phone out of sleep mode, checking messages I’d already seen twice.

Then it buzzed in my hand, Mom flashing across the screen.

I answered on the second ring. “Hey, Ma.”

“You picked up,” she said, the relief in her voice instant. “Hey, sweetheart.” There was something about her voice lately. Softer. Lighter. Warm and weary and somehow still stitched with love, even after everything. Like she’d learned how to breathe again.

I didn’t say it out loud, but I think Boston helped. Her parents helped. Or maybe just the simple act of waking up somewhere that didn’t echo with absence.

I smiled slightly. “What, you didn’t think I would pick up?”

“Well, I thought you’d be elbows deep in equations or world domination or whatever you do these days.”

I huffed a quiet laugh, shifting the phone to my other ear.

“You sound good,” she said. “You sleeping better?”

I shrugged even though she couldn’t see me. “Getting there.”

She hummed, satisfied. “Progress.”

I let the silence stretch for a moment, feeling the sunlight warm my bare feet against the hardwood. “How’s Boston?”