The Night She Could Not Open Her Own Front Door

Three days after giving birth, Paige Larkin came home from the hospital with her newborn daughter sleeping against her chest, a small overnight bag hanging from one tired arm, and a heart that only wanted one thing.

Her body still hurt with every step. Her hair was pulled into a loose knot. Her dress was wrinkled from the ride home, and the soft June rain had already started to soak through the shoulders of her cardigan.

Then Bryce sighed.

“I changed it.”

Paige stood completely still.

Rain touched her eyelashes. Her hospital bracelet was still around her wrist.

“You changed the code while I was in the hospital?”

Before Bryce could answer, his mother’s voice came through the phone, sharp and pleased.

“Is she outside already?”

Paige closed her eyes.

Bryce’s tone turned colder.

“You needed a lesson in boundaries, Paige. Mom said you were starting to act like you owned everything.”

Paige looked at the house.

The stone steps. The wide porch. The brass lanterns. The expensive windows. The nursery she had built. The mortgage that had been paid from her account for years.

“Bryce,” she said, very softly, “I do own it.”

He laughed.

Not loudly.

Not cruelly enough for other people to notice.

Just enough to make her feel small.