The sun had just begun to set behind the tallest fir tree in Gram’s front yard when we finally made it home for our first night as a family of three. Jane was already home in Portland, finally back at work after her leave of absence. This was the first night since Will died that it would be just me and the kids. I had always loved Gram’s house. It was a cute little cottage, painted a creamy white, with dark green shutters and trim. It was right in the middle of town on a street lined with other old houses. Picket fences surrounded every yard, along with lush green grass, abundant flowers, and tall trees that created an arch over the street. As kids, we used to pretend the house was haunted because it would creak and settle all night long, making noises that we were sure had to be ghosts and zombies. When we slept over with Gram, we would all end up piled in bed with her, where she would tell ghost stories and scare us by cackling like an old witch. It would be strange to have her bedroom be mine. So many memories lived in this old house.

Shaking off my sudden nostalgia, I stopped my Expedition and climbed out to get the sleeping kids. I dreaded waking Dylan, if I had let Rose come home with me, we could each take a kid and let them both sleep. I sighed at my new lonely reality.

“Hey, sweet boy, can you wake up, so we can go inside?” I rubbed his cheek softly and smiled at him to take the sting out of having to wake him up.

“Mommy, where are we?” His sleepy eyes examined our new home in confusion.

“Grandma Rosemary’s house. It’s ours, for now, remember?”

He didn’t answer. He just hopped down and ran to the wraparound porch to wait. Luckily, Calla didn’t wake as I took her carrier out of its base in the back seat.

“Lucky girl. I hope I’ll sleep this well tonight,” I whispered.

I unlocked the front door to let us inside. The house was still decorated in Grandma chic—homemade quilts and doilies, Hummel figurines and family pictures—I made a mental note to pack up the breakables, Dylan could get rowdy. Gram’s tiny bookshelf in the corner was still filled to overflowing with the books my mother had written along with her other favorites. I hoped my kids would feel as comforted as I did by the familiar surroundings.