Suzie stood outside the house longer than necessary.
The car was already gone, its taillights swallowed by the darkness of the street, but she remained where Ray had left her, one hand resting on the strap of her bag, the other hovering near the front door as if she weren't sure she had the right to go inside.
Nothing about the house had changed.
The paint was still slightly chipped near the gate. The windows still glowed faintly from the living room light their mother must have forgotten to turn off. The night air still smelled of dust and damp concrete. It was all familiar. Comfortingly so.
And yet, stepping forward felt like crossing another line.
She opened the door quietly.
Inside, the house greeted her the way it always did—warm, lived-in, imperfect. Her shoes made a soft sound against the floor. Somewhere deeper in the house, the television murmured. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, breathing slowly, as if the walls might collapse if she moved too quickly.
This was her home.
But she wasn't sure she still belonged to it in the same way.
She slipped off her shoes and walked further in. The dress felt strange now that the night was over, too elegant for the narrow hallway, too refined for the scuffed floor. She caught her reflection briefly in the darkened glass of a cabinet and looked away just as quickly.
She didn't recognize herself.
"Suzie?"
Todd's voice came from the living room, casual, distracted.
She took another step forward.
He looked up from the couch—and froze.
For a second, he just stared.
Then his face broke into a slow, incredulous grin. "Whoa," he said, sitting up straighter. "Is that you?"
She stopped a few feet away.
"You look…" He searched for the word, then laughed softly. "You look stunning."
The word landed harder than she expected.
Not because it wasn't kind. Because it was.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
He stood, walking a small circle around her like he was trying to confirm she was real. "Seriously. You didn't warn us you were turning into—whatever this is."
She gave a weak smile.
Their mother appeared in the doorway moments later, drawn by the sound of his voice. She took one look at Suzie and pressed a hand to her chest.
"Oh," she breathed.
Suzie braced herself—for questions, for worry, for fear—but she only stepped closer and reached out, smoothing a crease in the fabric of her dress with careful fingers, as if touching her too firmly might undo something fragile.
"You're home," she said, relief heavy in her voice.
"Yes."
Todd leaned back against the couch, arms crossed, still smiling.
"So," he said, lighter now, "I guess dinner went well."
Suzie nodded.
"Good," he said easily. "That means it worked… right?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Her mother turned to him. "Give her a moment."
He lifted his hands in surrender. "I'm just saying…" He hesitated, then shrugged. "... I'm glad," he said finally. "We're not leaving. That's what matters."
Suzie swallowed.
She understood what he meant. Truly. For him, the fear had been simple: losing the house, uprooting their lives, watching their mother struggle even more than she already had. The danger had been tangible, immediate.
Now it was gone.
Of course he was relieved.
"I know," she said. "I'm glad too."
He smiled again, softer this time. "You did something big, you know. For us."
Their mother's eyes flickered with pain.
Suzie felt something twist inside her—not pride, not regret, but something quieter. Something lonelier.
He understood that she had done something… but not what she had agreed to keep doing.
"I'm tired," she said gently. "I think I'll go change."
He nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."
She walked down the hallway slowly, every step echoing in her ears. Her room waited at the end, exactly as she had left it that morning. The bed. The desk. The familiar clutter of her life before all of this.
She closed the door behind her and leaned against it, eyes shut.
Only then did her shoulders sag.
She slipped out of the dress carefully, hanging it back in the garment bag as if it belonged to someone else. When she finally changed into an old T-shirt and sat on the edge of her bed, the quiet settled around her like a weight.
This was happening.
There was no dramatic realization, no sudden panic. Just a slow, steady awareness creeping in, wrapping itself around her thoughts.
She wasn't in charge anymore.
Her days would be scheduled. Her choices measured. Her words monitored. She would move through rooms she didn't belong to, play a role she hadn't chosen, smile when expected.
And she would do it well.
Because failure wasn't an option.
She lay back and stared at the ceiling. The house hadn't changed; the crack near the wall was still there, and the thin walls still carried every sound. Todd would still complain about the heat. Their mother would still wake too early, worry too much.
Everything she had done had been for this.
And that made it harder to feel anything but… something quieter than anger. Something heavier.
A soft knock sounded on her door.
"Yes?" she called.
Todd peeked in. "I just wanted to say… I'm proud of you."
She looked at him, unsure what to say.
"Really," he added, a little awkwardly. "I know you didn't want any of this. But... you handled it. Thank you."
She nodded. "Goodnight."
"Night," he replied, closing the door gently.
Once it shut, the room felt even quieter, almost weighed down by silence.
Suzie turned onto her side, curling slightly, as if that might keep the thoughts from spreading further. She didn't cry. She didn't sleep either.
She simply lay there, suspended between who she had been and who she was becoming.
Tonight, she had walked back into her house safe.
But she knew, with a certainty that scared her, that something else had been left behind.
And she wasn't sure she would ever get it back.