For a little while Colleen, too, had thought she might stay. She befriended her neighbors and became involved in the community. She found enough friendship to sustain her and enough solitude to write. In the midst of her writing, the realization flowered—since she’d arrived she hadn’t known what to do about home, but the in-between space allowed the decision to grow and become what it must until she was certain—the pulse of the water and the heartbeat of her family on the other side of the sea drew her home—a place she chose.

As she wrote, and as the stories spread across the pages, she understood that there is and always would be heartbreak. Always. It was the cost of love. To live her life in fear would not do. Walter hadn’t only destroyed her faith in love but had also offered her a new belief: that getting close to anyone would destroy her. Getting close to Walter wasn’t the same as becoming close to anyone else. The world was not made solely of Walters—to believe the lie kept her in bondage to fear. “Don’t move on anymore,” Hallie had cried out when she left. “Don’t move on.”

As the cab backed away and honked, two little faces appeared in the window of the tree house. Colleen couldn’t make out one from the other, but she waved.

“Aunt Lena!” Rosie’s voice called out clearly and then Sadie’s voice joined in.

With loud squeals of delight two little girls scurried down the ladder, both jumping before the last step to land in the soft grass and run toward Colleen. They flew into her, arms and legs flying, their voices rising still higher.

“You’re home!”

“Did you bring us presents?”

“Are leprechauns real?”

“I lost another tooth.”

“Will you stay in our room with us?”

They talked over and above each other while Colleen tried to hug them both, two squirming little girls. They fell to the grass in laughter.

The commotion brought Hallie to the back steps, one hand on her hip, the other shading her eyes as she looked up toward the tree house, where her girls were supposed to be. She wore a pair of jeans and a white linen button-down fluttering in the breeze. Her hair, shorter and loose around her face, touched her shoulders. Not seeing what she meant to see, she shifted her gaze to the lawn, where Colleen and the girls were now tangled together in a heap.

“Lena?” Hallie asked in a quiet voice, walking toward them slowly as if she might make her disappear.

Colleen stood up and brushed off her jeans. “Hey, sis.” She smiled at her sister and reached for a hug.

Hallie came into her arms, holding tight. “You didn’t tell me you were coming home. I would have made you a nice dinner. I would have . . .”