Return to Willow Creek

The "Welcome to Willow Creek" sign looked smaller than Sarah remembered. Faded paint peeled at the edges, and someone had added a cheerful sunflower decal that hadn't been there fifteen years ago. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, her knuckles white against the worn leather.

Coming home wasn't supposed to feel this hard.

Behind her, boxes filled with the remnants of her old life shifted as she took the turn onto Main Street. Twelve years of marriage, packed into a U-Haul. It should have felt heavier somehow. Instead, she just felt empty.

The town hadn't changed much. Morrison's Hardware still anchored the corner of Main and Oak. The old movie theater had been converted into a bookstore-café combo that actually looked charming. The elementary school playground where she'd skinned her knees a dozen times still had the same rusted swing set.

Everything familiar. Everything the same.

Everything she'd run from when she was twenty-two, desperate to escape the smallness of small-town life, chasing dreams in Seattle with David by her side.

David. Her chest tightened. She wouldn't think about him. Not about the affair. Not about the way he'd looked at her when he said he hadn't felt anything for years. Not about how she'd felt so foolish, so blind, so completely unprepared to start over at thirty-seven.

Her phone buzzed in the cup holder. Her best friend Jenna, again.

You there yet? Remember—fresh start, new chapter, all that inspiring shit. Love you.

Sarah smiled despite herself. Jenna had been her rock through the divorce, had held her while she ugly-cried, had helped her pack, had told her that going home wasn't giving up—it was choosing herself.

"Choosing myself," Sarah murmured, turning onto Maple Street. "Right."

Her childhood home came into view—a butter-yellow Victorian with white trim that her mother had lovingly maintained until the stroke last year. Sarah's sister Emma had been managing the property, but now Emma was in Portland with her wife and their new baby. The house was Sarah's now, along with the responsibility and the memories and the weight of starting completely over.

She pulled into the driveway and killed the engine.

Silence settled around her.

Through the windshield, she could see Mrs. Henderson next door pretending not to watch from behind her lace curtains. Across the street, someone was mowing their lawn, the sound a steady, ordinary hum.

Ordinary. God, she'd forgotten what ordinary felt like.

Sarah took a deep breath, grabbed her purse, and stepped out of the car. The June air was warm and smelled like fresh-cut grass and honeysuckle. A breeze lifted her dark hair, and for just a moment, she let herself feel it.

She was home.

Now she just had to figure out what that meant.

The Willow Creek Veter...