Chapter 166 The Long Road Home

Chapter 166 The Long Road Home
(Lily Carter's POV)
The drive had been smooth, but as the miles ticked by, the mood in the car shifted. The upbeat music we had been playing faded into the background, and the road became narrower, winding through dense trees that felt like walls on either side.
"We’re close," Ethan said, his voice quiet. He kept his eyes on the road, but he reached over and rested his hand on mine. "The GPS says it’s just over this hill."
I looked out the window. The countryside here was wilder than what we had passed earlier. The houses were spaced far apart, nestled deep in the greenery, and the air felt heavy with the smell of pine and damp earth.
"I remember this road," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "I used to ride my bike down this hill when I was seven. I thought it went on forever."
"It’s a long way to go for a bike ride," Ethan noted.
"I was a fast kid," I said with a weak smile. "I liked the speed. It made me feel like I could outrun anything."
"And now?" he asked, glancing at me. "Do you still feel like you need to outrun things?"
I shook my head, feeling the ring on my finger. "No. Not anymore. I think I finally stopped running the moment I said yes."
Ethan squeezed my hand. "That’s good. Because we’re here, Lily. There’s nowhere else to go."
As we crested the hill, the trees opened up, and the landscape leveled out into a wide, grassy field. And there, sitting at the end of a long, winding gravel driveway, was the house.
It was exactly as I remembered it, yet somehow smaller. It was a weathered, two-story house with a porch that wrapped around the front. The paint was peeling in patches, and the garden that had once been my mother’s pride and joy was overgrown, with wildflowers spilling out of their beds and onto the grass.
"That’s it," I said, my heart hammering against my ribs. "That’s the house."
Ethan slowed the car to a crawl as we turned onto the gravel drive. Crunch, crunch, crunch. The sound seemed incredibly loud in the silence of the afternoon.
"It’s beautiful," Ethan said softly. "It has character."
"It has a lot of memories," I corrected, looking at the windows. "Some good, some… complicated. I spent a lot of time looking out of that upstairs window, wondering what the world was like outside of this town."
"And now you know," Ethan said. "You’ve seen the world. You’ve built your own life. You’re not that girl in the window anymore."
"I know," I said, but the anxiety was rising. "What if she’s changed, Ethan? Or what if she hasn't? What if I walk up to that door and realize I don't know her at all anymore?"
"Then we turn around and leave," Ethan said firmly, stopping the car in front of the porch. "We don't have to stay. We don't have to fix anything if it’s broken. We’re just here to see, remember?"
"I remember," I said, staring at the front door. It was painted a faded red, the color chipped and dull.
"Are you okay?" he asked, turning the engine off. The silence that followed was absolute.
"I’m terrified," I admitted. "I feel like I’m ten years old again, standing on the edge of that hill, waiting to see if I’m going to crash."
Ethan unbuckled his seatbelt and turned in his seat to face me. "You’re not ten. You’re an adult. You’re my fiancée. You’re the bravest person I know. You chose to come here. That’s not crashing; that’s steering."
"You’re really good at that," I said, a tear slipping down my cheek. "At making me feel like I can handle it."
"It’s my job," he said, smiling gently. "I’m the co-pilot, remember? I’m here for the whole ride."
I took a deep breath and opened the car door. The air outside was cooler than I expected, smelling of rain and cut grass. The house stood before us, silent and still. There were no lights on in the windows, but a chair on the porch was rocking slightly in the breeze.
"Is someone there?" I whispered, stopping at the edge of the driveway.
"I don't see anyone," Ethan said, stepping out and walking around to join me. He didn't rush me. He stood beside me, his presence solid and grounding. "Do you want to go up to the door, or do you want to wait a minute?"
"I want to look at it," I said, walking slowly toward the yard. "I want to see the garden."
I walked toward the side of the house, where the flowerbeds used to be. The roses were wild, their thorns grabbing at my jeans as I passed. It was a mess, but in a strange way, it felt natural. The house wasn't trying to be perfect. It was just existing.
"She always loved the roses," I said, touching a stem. "She spent every weekend out here, pruning and talking to them. She said they could hear us, that they knew when we were sad."
"Maybe they still can," Ethan said, following me. "Maybe they know you’re back."
"That’s a nice thought," I said, looking back at the house. "Do you think she’s inside?"
"Only one way to find out," Ethan said. "But you’re the one who decides. Not me. Not anyone else. You."
I looked at the front door. My hand was shaking. I could turn back right now. I could get back in the car, drive to the nearest hotel, and leave first thing in the morning. I could keep the secret of our visit forever.
"I can’t believe I’m actually standing here," I said. "Three years ago, I thought I’d never come back."
"A lot can change in three years," Ethan reminded me. "Everything has changed."
"It has," I said. "And I think… I think I’m ready."
"You’re ready?" he asked, taking my hand again.
"I’m ready," I said. "I need to know. I need to see her."
We walked toward the front porch. The wooden steps creaked under our feet, a familiar sound that echoed in my memory. I reached the front door and hesitated, my hand hovering near the knocker. It was shaped like a brass lion, its face worn smooth by years of hands.
"Deep breath," Ethan whispered.
I took a deep breath, and it filled my lungs, cold and sharp. I reached out and knocked. Three distinct raps. Thump. Thump. Thump.
The sound seemed to hang in the air, waiting for an answer. We stood there, side by side, listening.
"What if she doesn't answer?" I asked, my voice small.
"Then we’ll know," Ethan said. "We’ll know she’s not ready, or she’s not there. And we can let it go."
"I think I’m okay with that," I realized. "I just need the truth. I need to stop imagining what’s behind this door."
"That’s healthy," Ethan said, tightening his grip on my hand.
We waited. Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. A minute passed. The house remained silent. The only sound was the rustle of the trees and the distant call of a bird.
"Maybe she’s out," I said, a strange mix of disappointment and relief washing over me.
"Maybe," Ethan agreed. "Should we try again?"
"No," I said, lowering my hand. "Let’s walk around back. Maybe she’s in the garden."
"Lead the way," Ethan said.
We walked along the side of the house, past the overgrown roses and the wild grass. The backyard was even more neglected than the front. There was an old swing set, rusted and leaning to one side, and a vegetable patch that had long since been taken over by weeds.
"I remember this," I said, pointing to the swing. "Daniel used to push me so high I thought I could touch the sky."
"Daniel," Ethan repeated. "He’d love to see this."
"Maybe one day," I said.
We reached the back porch, and I saw a screen door that was slightly ajar. My heart started to beat faster.
"Someone’s here," I whispered.
"You want me to stay back?" Ethan asked.
"No," I said, reaching for his hand again. "Stay with me. Please."
"Always," he said.
I climbed the back steps, my boots making no sound on the wood. I stood in front of the screen door and peered inside. The kitchen was dark, but a sliver of light was coming from the living room.
"Mom?" I called out, my voice sounding foreign to my own ears. "Mom, are you here?"
The silence returned, but this time, it felt different. It felt like the house was holding its breath.
"Mom?" I called again, louder this time.
Then, from the living room, I heard it. A sound. A scrape of a chair on the floor. A soft, muffled noise. Someone was definitely inside.
I turned to look at Ethan, my eyes wide. "Did you hear that?"
"I heard it," he said, his expression serious. "She’s in there, Lily."
"Oh god," I whispered, my hand flying to my mouth. "She’s in there."
"Are you going to open the door?" he asked.
I looked at the screen door. It was just a thin mesh of wire between me and the last three years of my life. Between me and the woman who had been my first home.
"I have to," I said. "I have to."
I reached out, my fingers trembling, and pushed the screen door open. It creaked, the sound echoing through the quiet house. I took a step into the kitchen, the familiar scent of old wood and dried herbs hitting me like a physical wave. It smelled like my childhood. It smelled like safety, and it smelled like fear.
"Mom?" I said, walking toward the hallway.
Ethan followed close behind, his hand on the small of my back. He was my anchor. He was the reason I could do this.
We moved into the hallway, toward the sliver of light from the living room. My heart felt like it was going to burst. This was it. The moment I had been waiting for, the moment I had been running from, all at the same time.
"Mom?" I said one last time, my voice trembling.
And then, from the living room, a shadow moved. A figure stood up, silhouetted against the light.
"Who’s there?" a voice asked.
It was her voice. It was thinner, older, and shaking, but it was unmistakably her.
I stopped walking. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe.
"It’s me," I said, my voice barely audible. "It’s Lily."
The figure in the doorway froze. The room went silent. And for a moment, the entire world seemed to stop spinning.
I looked at Ethan, then back at the door. I had arrived. The road trip was over, and the real journey was just about to begin.
And I couldn't wait to see what happened next.