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That night, after everything was unpacked and the keys of my old house were resting in Peter's hand instead of mine, Chloe decided to stay over. Liam didn't even ask twice—he simply made sure her room was right across mine so I wouldn't feel alone.
We sat cross-legged on my new bed, the room still smelling of fresh linen and faint lavender, with a night lamp glowing in the corner. For the first time in weeks, I wasn't shivering. I wasn't staring at shadows. I wasn't drowning. I was just… sitting with my best friend.
Chloe flopped back onto the pillow with a sigh. "Finally. No ghosts, no trauma, no creepy backyard trees. Just us."
I managed a smile. "Don't jinx it. My luck isn't that good."
"Emma," she said, turning on her side, her brown hair fanning out. "Your luck is better than you think. You still have me. You still have Peter. You still have Liam. And Edward."
I raised an eyebrow. "Edward?"
Her lips curled into the tiniest grin. "Yeah. Edward."
The way she said his name made me sit up straighter. "Wait. What is that supposed to mean?"
She pretended to be coy, pulling the blanket over her head. "Nothing."
"Chloe Henderson, if you don't tell me in the next three seconds, I will drag you to the backyard in the middle of the night."
She peeked from under the blanket, giggling. "Fine! Okay, okay! We're… official."
I blinked. "Official, like… together?"
She nodded, cheeks pink, eyes sparkling in that way only Chloe's could. "Yes. Boyfriend and girlfriend. No more maybes. It's real this time."
For the first time in so long, I laughed—a real laugh. It bubbled up from somewhere in my chest I thought had dried out forever. "Oh my god. Chloe! That's amazing!"
She covered her face with her hands, squealing. "I didn't want to tell you earlier. You were going through so much… I didn't want to make it about me."
I reached out, pulling her hands away gently. "Chloe, no. Don't ever hold back happiness from me. If anything, I need this. I need to hear about good things, about real things. About love that isn't twisted and cursed."
Her eyes softened. "Then you'll let yourself feel it again too, right? With Peter?"
I looked down, fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve. "I don't know, Chlo. My head is still messy. My heart is… broken in a million pieces. I don't want to drag him into my wreckage."
She took my hand, squeezing it tightly. "Emma Blanders, you are not wreckage. You are rebuilding. And people who love you? They stay. They help rebuild."
For a moment, silence wrapped around us, warm and steady. Then I did something I thought I'd forgotten how to do—I laughed again. "God, listen to you. You sound like a therapist."
Chloe giggled, tossing a pillow at me. "Maybe I should charge you."
We ended up talking about everything and nothing—her fears about Edward's crazy obsession with chess, my memories of mom's terrible cooking experiments, our shared list of TV shows we still needed to binge someday when life stopped trying to kill us. For the first time in weeks, it felt like I was a teenager again, not some cursed soul fighting battles I never asked for.
Just as we were mid-giggle over Edward's tragic attempts at singing in class, a knock came on the door.
"Girls?" It was Liam's voice. "Dinner's ready."
Chloe and I exchanged a look. "Dinner?" I whispered.
Her smile widened. "Real dinner."
We rushed downstairs, and the sight that met us nearly broke me.
The dining table—long, polished, and glowing under the chandelier—was full. Not with boxes, not with wrappers, not with half-eaten slices of bread. Full of actual food.
There was roasted chicken, golden and steaming. Plates of spaghetti tangled with sauce and herbs. Omelettes stacked perfectly, sprinkled with cheese. Fresh salad bowls—green lettuce, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers glistening under olive oil. Garlic bread, warm and buttery. A jug of fresh juice, glasses lined beside it. Bowls of fruit, small cupcakes, and even a chocolate pudding in the center.
I froze. My throat tightened. For a second, I couldn't move.
Because for a month now, my meals had been half-stale bread, random packaged snacks, sometimes nothing at all. I never starved on purpose—I just… forgot. Forgot that I had to feed myself. Forgot that I was alive.
And now… this. This mountain of food. This sign that someone cared.
Liam walked up, wiping his hands on a towel. "We, uh, might've gone overboard."
Peter grinned, sitting at the table already. "We? Dude, you cooked half of this."
Edward smirked, carrying the jug of juice. "And I almost burned the other half."
Chloe slid into her chair, clapping. "Boys, this looks amazing!"
I still stood there, my legs refusing to move.
Liam noticed first. His smile softened. "Emma. Sit. Eat. This is for you."
Something inside me cracked. My lips trembled, but I forced myself to smile. "It's… beautiful. I don't even know where to start."
Peter pulled out the chair next to him. "Start here. Beside me."
I laughed shakily, wiping at my eyes before tears could fall. "Fine."
As I sat, the smell of the food washed over me. My stomach growled so loudly that everyone burst into laughter—including me. And God, it felt so good to laugh, even if it was at myself.
I took a bite of spaghetti first. And then chicken. And then salad. And then another bite, and another, like I had been starving for years and suddenly remembered what it felt like to eat.
"This is…" I muttered between mouthfuls, "the best thing… I've tasted… in forever."
Chloe giggled, nudging me. "Slow down, Em, or you'll choke."
Edward grinned. "Let her eat. She deserves it."
Peter leaned close, his voice low so only I could hear. "Welcome back."
That one whisper, that one smile—it almost undid me completely.
For the first time in a long, long time, I wasn't just surviving.
I was living.
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