Chapter 158: Layla's POV
Friday morning, I wake up on the couch with a crick in my neck and AJ's arm draped across my stomach.
For a moment, I can't remember where I am. Then it comes back—the living room, falling asleep during the movie, all of us in a tangle of blankets and limbs.
I carefully extract myself without waking anyone. In the kitchen, I start coffee, watching the sun paint the backyard golden.
Last night feels like a turning point. Not healing—that'll take time. But acceptance, maybe. The beginning of letting go.
My phone buzzes. Unknown number.
My heart stutters before I realize it's not her. Can't be her. I blocked that number yesterday.
It's the estate lawyer.
Final papers ready for signature. House officially transfers Monday. Congratulations.
The house. My father's house. My house now.
The thought hits me suddenly, completely: I don't want my mother's ghost in that house anymore.
"Morning." Xavier appears in the doorway, hair sleep-mussed, still in yesterday's clothes. "You okay?"
"Yeah." I show him the text. "The house is mine on Monday."
"That's good, right?"
"It is." I set down my phone. "But I want to do something first. Before it's officially mine."
"What's that?"
"Clear out everything that's hers. Every trace. Make it mine and Dad's again."
Xavier studies me for a moment. "When?"
"Today. Now. Before I lose my nerve."
"Then let's do it." He doesn't hesitate. "I'll wake the others."
---
An hour later, we're standing in my father's driveway. The house looks smaller than I remember. Sadder, somehow, with the overgrown lawn and peeling paint.
But it's still beautiful. Still home.
"You sure about this?" Hunter asks gently.
I nod, unlocking the front door. It sticks—always sticks—then swings open with a familiar creak.
The smell hits me first. Dust and stale air and something floral. My mother's perfume, lingering like a ghost.
My stomach clenches, but I force myself forward.
"Okay." I turn to face them. "Her stuff is mostly in the master bedroom and office. Some things in the kitchen. We box it all up and donate it."
"All of it?" Cade asks.
"Every last piece." My voice is firm. "I don't want any of it."
We split up. Xavier and I take the master bedroom. Hunter and Cade handle the office. AJ starts on the kitchen.
The master bedroom is the hardest. This was my parents' room—both of them—but my mother erased any trace of my father years ago. His favorite chair, gone. His books, donated. Even his side of the closet, filled with her things.
"Where do we start?" Xavier asks, standing in the doorway.
"Closet." I steel myself. "Let's start with the closet."
Her clothes are organized by color, then season. Everything perfectly pressed, perfectly hung. It's obsessive. Controlling.
It's so her.
I start pulling things off hangers. Dresses, blouses, pants. Xavier holds open a garbage bag and I drop them in without ceremony.
"You okay?" he asks after the first bag is full.
"Yeah." And surprisingly, I am. "It's just stuff. She's not here."
We work in silence. Fill three more bags. Then I move to her dresser.
That's where I find it.
A box. Small, wooden, tucked in the back of her drawer.
"What's that?" Xavier asks.
"I don't know." My hands shake as I open it.
Inside are photos. Old ones, from before I was born. My parents, young and smiling. My father looking at my mother like she hung the moon.
And underneath, a letter. Addressed to my father, in my mother's handwriting. Never sent.
I shouldn't read it. Should just throw it away.
But I can't help myself.
Richard,
I'm pregnant. We're having a baby. And I'm terrified.
Not of being a mother. Of losing you. You're going to fall in love with this child, and I'm going to come second. I've seen it happen.
I'm terrified you're going to love our baby more than you love me.
And I don't know if I can forgive you for that.
The letter ends there. Unfinished. Unsent.
But the truth is written clearly in those lines.
My mother didn't resent me because of anything I did. She resented me because I existed. Because my father loved me, and she couldn't stand sharing him.
"Layla?" Xavier's voice is careful. "What is it?"
I hand him the letter. Watch his expression darken as he reads.
"Jesus," he mutters.
"She was jealous," I say, voice distant. "From the beginning. Of a baby."
"That's not your fault."
"I know." And I do. But seeing it written in her own hand... "She chose this. She chose to see me as competition instead of her daughter."
Xavier sets down the letter, pulls me into a hug. I press my face against his chest.
"What do you want to do with it?" he asks.
I pull back, look at the letter again. My mother's confession.
"Burn it," I say. "With everything else."
---
By early afternoon, we've cleared everything. Twelve garbage bags of clothes. Three boxes of books. Miscellaneous items that belonged only to her.
We load it all into Xavier's truck.
"Donation center?" Hunter asks.
"Yeah." I take one last look at the house. It already feels lighter. "Let's get rid of it."
The donation center takes everything without question. We unload bag after bag until Xavier's truck is empty.
My mother's entire presence, reduced to items for strangers to buy at a thrift store.
It should feel wrong.
It feels perfect.
"Now what?" Cade asks as we climb back into the vehicles.
"Now we go back," I say. "And we have dinner. In my dad's house. My house."
"What are we having?" AJ asks.
I think about it. "Lasagna. The recipe Dad taught me when I was ten."
"Then lasagna it is," Xavier says.
---
That evening, we cram into my father's kitchen—my kitchen. I cook while they "help," which mostly means getting in the way and stealing tastes.
It's chaotic and messy and absolutely perfect.
When the lasagna comes out, we gather around the dining room table. My father's table, scarred from years of family dinners.
"Should we say something?" Hunter asks. "Like a toast?"
"Yeah." I raise my water glass. "To my dad. Who loved this house and taught me that home isn't about the people who hurt you. It's about the people who heal you."
"To your dad," they echo.
We drink. We eat. We laugh.
And for the first time since my father died, this house feels like home again.
Not because my mother's gone.
But because I'm here. With them.
My family. The one I chose.
Later, as we're cleaning up, Cade finds me at the sink.
"You know what would really make this place yours?" he asks.
"What's that?"
"New paint. Maybe some furniture. Make it look like you live here, not like a museum to the past."
I consider this. "You offering to help?"
"Obviously." He grins. "I'm excellent at painting."
"You're terrible at painting."
"Fine. I'm excellent at moral support while other people paint."
I laugh—real, genuine laughter. "Deal."
Xavier appears with his laptop. "I'm making a list. What do we need?"
"Xavier, you don't have to—"
"I'm making a list," he repeats firmly. "Tell me what you want."
So I do. Paint colors, new curtains, maybe some plants for the kitchen window. Small things. Things that make it mine.
Hunter volunteers to handle the furniture shopping. AJ claims the kitchen renovation as his project.
They're not just helping me clear out my mother's ghost.
They're helping me build something new.
Something that's entirely mine.
And standing in my father's kitchen—my kitchen—surrounded by the people who chose to love me, I realize something.
My mother was wrong about everything.
I'm not damaged. I'm not unlovable. I'm not going to end up alone.
I'm going to end up exactly where I am right now.
Home.