The seasons had begun to shift again. The last signs of spring were fading, and summer crept in with longer days and the warmth of something unspoken in the air. The trees outside Lena's window swayed gently in the morning breeze, their leaves rustling like quiet conversations. It was early, but she couldn't sleep—not because of restlessness, but because she had started waking up with a calm she didn't yet trust.
Lena wandered into the kitchen barefoot, the tiles cool beneath her feet. She made coffee in silence, the steam rising in curls as the house remained still around her. It was peaceful in a way she hadn't known for a long time, but it didn't feel like emptiness anymore. It felt like space—space to breathe, to grow, to begin.
Later that day, the three of them—Lena, Clara, and Jace—ended up at the lake. It hadn't been planned. Clara had mentioned needing a break from the city noise, and Jace had offered to drive. They brought sandwiches and fruit and old blankets, settling on a quiet patch of grass beneath a wide oak tree.
For a while, they didn't talk. Clara lay on her stomach sketching in her notebook, earbuds in and eyes squinting against the sun. Jace skipped stones across the water with quiet focus. Lena sat between them, knees pulled to her chest, watching the reflection of the sky ripple and distort with each small splash.
She couldn't remember the last time they'd all existed like this, in the same place, without the presence of unspoken tension thick in the air.
Eventually, Clara sat up, pulling out one earbud. "I've been thinking," she said, and both Jace and Lena looked up at her.
"Dangerous," Jace joked gently, and Clara rolled her eyes, a faint smile tugging at her lips.
"No, seriously," she said, brushing hair from her face. "I think I want to leave for a while. Not forever—just a little trip. Somewhere different. Somewhere that doesn't hold memories of... everything."
Lena's stomach tensed. "Alone?"
Clara nodded. "I need to. I think it's something I have to do for myself."
Lena wanted to argue, to protest, to remind Clara how fragile things still felt between them—but she didn't. She saw the clarity in her sister's eyes. It wasn't about running. It was about claiming something that had nothing to do with the past.
"I think that sounds brave," Lena said quietly.
Jace nodded in agreement. "Where would you go?"
"I don't know. Maybe the coast. I want to see the ocean again."
Lena smiled. "Take pictures."
"I will," Clara promised. "And I'll write. And draw."
The conversation drifted after that, but something had shifted. Not broken. Just changed.
That night, after they got home, Lena stood in the doorway of Clara's room as she packed. Clothes, a few books, the sketchpad. She was calm, focused. More certain than Lena had ever seen her.
"You'll call me?" Lena asked, voice soft.
Clara looked up. "Of course I will. You're still my sister, you know. That never changed."
Lena's eyes misted. "I know. I just don't want to feel like I'm losing you again."
"You're not," Clara said, crossing the room and hugging her. "You're just letting me grow."
The next morning, Lena watched Clara disappear down the sidewalk, backpack slung over her shoulder, the sun catching in her hair. She didn't cry—not because she wasn't emotional, but because she finally understood what hope felt like when it didn't come wrapped in fear.
Later that day, she sat on the porch with Jace. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It was the silence of knowing. Of presence.
"She's gonna be okay," he said.
Lena nodded. "We all are."
He looked at her. "So what now?"
She took a breath, her eyes on the open sky. "Now? We live. We forgive. We keep walking."
Jace smiled, taking her hand. "With you, I can do that."
And for the first time, Lena believed it—not just in words, but deep in her bones. Things had changed. And that was okay.
Change was a beginning, not an ending.
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