My phone buzzed.
A picture from Elowen.
Wren asleep under her purple blanket.
The toddler curled sideways in his bed.
The baby on the floor beside a pile of stuffed animals, because apparently beds were optional.
Then another message came.
From my mother.
Proud of you.
That was all.
No guilt.
No request.
No lecture.
Just proud of you.
I cried again.
Not because everything was fixed.
Because it was not.
My mother still had habits she had to fight.
Elowen still had bills and fears and days when old patterns called her name.
Sylas still floated in and out, sometimes trying, sometimes blaming, always less powerful than before because fewer people were willing to arrange the world around his moods.
Mr. Gideon was still grumpy.
The diner coffee was still terrible.
My future was still uncertain in all the normal ways futures are uncertain.
But something enormous had changed.
