Ryan came down the stairs quietly, his footsteps soft on the old wood. He caught the tail end of his mom and Mrs. Harper's conversation—voices hushed, serious. Something about the way his mother held her mug, eyes downcast, made him pause. But he didn't ask.
"Hey," he said instead, clearing his throat. "I'm heading out. Gonna look around the village."
Sarah looked up, surprised. "You sure?"
Ryan shrugged. "Can't stay cooped up forever."
Before she could say more, Mrs. Harper stood with a small smile. "Mind if I join you? It's been a while since I had a good excuse for a stroll."
Ryan hesitated. He wasn't in the mood for small talk, but something in her tone felt genuine—unpressing. So he nodded.
They walked side by side down the quiet street. Morning had shifted into early afternoon, and the village was beginning to hum to life. Shops opening. Wind chimes tinkling. A dog barking in the distance.
"You remind me of your mother," Mrs. Harper said, glancing sideways. "Not in how you talk. Lord knows she never had a problem filling silence. But in your eyes. That kind of tired you don't earn from just moving towns."
Ryan didn't reply. He just kept walking.
They passed a small bookstore with a faded sign, a park bench under a willow tree, and a row of stalls being set up near the square. Mrs. Harper pointed each one out, her stories light and unforced.
"That bench there? Your mom sat on it every afternoon senior year. Pretended she was reading, but she was always watching someone pass by." She gave Ryan a knowing look. "We never ask who."
Ryan cracked the smallest of smiles.
After a moment, Mrs. Harper's tone softened. "She's not perfect, your mom. But she came back. That takes guts."
Ryan kept his eyes ahead. "She doesn't tell me anything."
She will," Mrs. Harper said. "In her time. Some memories hurt more than others."
They walked a bit more in silence, passing by the edge of the local court where a few kids were tossing a basketball back and forth. Ryan slowed down unconsciously, eyes tracking the ball.
"You play?" Mrs. Harper asked.
"Used to," Ryan said. "Still do, I guess."
"Well," she said with a wink, "Rosehill might be smaller than what you're used to, but it's got room for second chances."
They stood there for a moment longer. And for the first time since he arrived, Ryan didn't feel like turning around and walking back."