Chapter 190: Hope POV
My break was over.
The past few weeks had been a blend of auditions, shooting schedules, and running on caffeine-fueled ambition. But coming home… home always grounded me. And now, as the sun began to rise in soft hues of gold, I decided to stop by and see Mom and Dad before heading back to set.
I stood outside the house — our house — with my duffel slung over one shoulder and my phone buzzing non-stop in my pocket. The driveway was still damp from early morning dew, and the flowerbed Dad planted for Mom last spring had bloomed again, vibrant and alive.
I inhaled deeply. The scent of home. Jasmine. Coffee. And something warm baking. Mom must be up.
I knocked lightly, out of habit, even though I knew I never needed to. The door creaked open before I could knock a second time.
"Hope!" Mom's voice sang from the kitchen.
A smile stretched across my face instantly. "Hey, Mom."
She appeared in the hallway in her robe, her hair in a messy bun, flour on her cheek.
"I was just thinking about you!" she said, walking over and pulling me into a hug. Her warmth always melted my stress like sugar in tea. "You didn't call."
"I wanted to surprise you," I said with a grin.
"And you did. Your dad's still asleep — stayed up watching some documentary about ancient wars or something," she rolled her eyes. "Come. Sit. You hungry?"
"I'm always hungry."
We laughed as she guided me into the kitchen. It smelled like cinnamon rolls, bacon, and everything good in the world. I sat at the counter and watched her flutter around the kitchen like a little whirlwind of comfort and chaos.
"How's the show going?" she asked, pouring me a mug of coffee exactly the way I liked it — a little cream, no sugar.
"Busy. Intense. A little crazy," I shrugged. "But I love it. Still feels surreal sometimes, you know? Like I'm living someone else's life."
"You worked for this, Hope. You're not lucky. You're talented and focused."
"Thanks, Mom." I sipped the coffee and stared at her for a second, a soft ache of love blooming in my chest. "I needed that."
Before she could reply, Dad's footsteps thudded down the stairs.
"Who's stealing my wife this early in the morning?" he joked sleepily, his voice thick and raspy.
I turned to him with a grin. "Your favorite daughter."
"Ah, I should've guessed. Come here."
He opened his arms and I walked into them without hesitation. His hugs were different from Mom's — stronger, steadier. He rubbed my back gently and kissed the top of my head.
"You're leaving again already?"
"Break's over," I sighed. "Gotta get back."
He pulled back slightly to look at me. "We're proud of you, you know?"
"I know," I smiled.
"But… just know you can always come home if it gets too much. No spotlight, no cameras, just us."
My throat tightened. I nodded.
"I know, Dad. Thank you."
We all sat down for breakfast together. It wasn't often anymore that the three of us had quiet mornings like this — no chaos, no screaming siblings, no buzzing phones. Just bacon, cinnamon rolls, and stolen moments.
"Are you seeing anyone?" Mom asked casually, and I nearly choked on my coffee.
"Mom!"
She raised an eyebrow. "What? A mother can't ask?"
Dad chuckled. "Here we go again."
"I'm not seeing anyone," I said quickly. "Not right now."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm focused on my career?"
"You can focus and still let someone love you, Hope."
"Mom," I whined, laughing, "can you not psychoanalyze me this early in the morning?"
"I'm just saying — don't close off your heart. You're too much like your dad."
Dad looked up. "Hey!"
"It's true," she said smugly. "He was a broody, silent man when I met him. Took years to soften him up."
"And yet, you married me anyway."
"Because you love me," she teased.
He leaned over and kissed her cheek with a smile that made my heart swell. After all these years, their love still sparkled. Still felt real.
I wanted that.
Not now. Maybe not even next year. But someday.
"I should get going soon," I said softly, glancing at the time.
Mom stood up and walked around to hug me again. "We'll always be here, okay? Take care of yourself."
"I will."
Dad handed me a paper bag — extra snacks, of course. "Just in case you get hungry on the way."
"Thanks," I smiled. "Love you both."
They walked me to the door. The morning sun was warmer now, kissing the edges of the trees and making everything look like a golden painting.
"Text when you get there," Mom said.
"I will."
"And don't forget to eat properly!"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Stay safe," Dad added, his tone softer now.
I walked back to my car and paused for a moment. Turning around, I waved at them as they stood together in the doorway — my two favorite people in the world.
In all the chaos of this dream I was chasing, I knew one thing would always be true: no matter how far I went, no matter how famous I became or how many red carpets I walked, this — them — would always be home.
And somehow, that made everything feel okay.