Mom drove slowly through the heart of town, finally turning into a quiet residential neighborhood. Every house looked nearly identical-small, square-shaped homes lined up neatly, a practical solution to fit as many families as possible in the limited space.
“It’s not as big as our old place,” Mom said with a sheepish grin, glancing at me as if seeking reassurance. “But it’s the best I could get on short notice. The landlord knew my dad.”
“It’s fine,” I chuckled softly, though my attention drifted to the peeling pink paint on the front porch. Blue let out a soft whine in my mind, recognizing the imperfections as well. That porch would need to be fixed.
Mom pulled up to the curb, parking in front of the house, then popped the trunk open. She grabbed as many bags as her arms could carry, wobbling under the weight as she made her way to the front door. I hadn’t realized I’d packed so much. It seemed like she was carrying half the world on her shoulders, struggling with the load. Before she could trip over herself, someone stepped in to help.
“Whoa there,” a man’s voice called out, catching one of the duffle bags just as it slipped from her grasp.
He had a kind smile, his face framed by sandy blonde hair. Despite the silver strands, he still had a youthful, refined look. Beside him stood a younger guy, clearly related, though his expression was far less friendly. They shared the same build, though the older man’s easy grin was met with a brooding scowl from the younger one. From their scents, I could tell immediately-they were werewolves. It was hard to miss the earthy, primal edge to their presence.
“Oh, thank you,” Mom breathed, her face flushing with relief.
“New to the pack?” the older man asked, taking a few more bags from Mom’s overburdened arms.
“I’m not, but my daughter is,” she smiled, gesturing towards me as I pulled my suitcase and a few bags from the trunk.
I held onto a shirt-wrapped bundle-the torn pages of my dad’s book that I still hadn’t found the strength to mend. I’d deal with that later. The older man glanced my way, offering me the same warm smile, and though I tried to return it, it probably came off as a half-hearted attempt. I wasn’t miserable, but I couldn’t summon any enthusiasm either. Leaving my old pack had given me some relief, yet the emotional bruises were still fresh.
“Help her with the rest of her things,” the man nudged the younger guy at his side. “I’m Beta Tommaso, by the way, and this here is my son, Vito.”
“Nice to meet you,” Mom said warmly. “I’m Elena, and this is Isabella.”
Vito stalked over, pulling a few bags from the trunk. Up close, I could get a better look at him. His hair was a sharp, blonde shade, slicked back to reveal dark, serious eyes. Some of the annoyance in his expression softened as we made eye contact, and without saying much, he grabbed more of the bags from my hands.
“I’ve got these,” he muttered, his voice low but not unkind.
Together, they helped us carry everything inside. As Tommaso and Mom fell into conversation, I found myself sitting awkwardly on the porch with Vito. Talking to guys had never been my strength. The only boy I’d ever felt comfortable around was Andrea, and everything with him had come so easily. I wasn’t interested in Vito, but there was still this nervous energy twisting in my stomach. What if things here ended up like they had before?
“You planning to start school soon?” Vito’s voice broke through the silence, his dark eyes focused on me, softening when he noticed my discomfort.
“I guess,” I shrugged, the familiar ache in my chest rising again. “I haven’t thought much about it.”
“If you need a ride, I can take you,” he offered with a casual shrug. “I live next door. It’s no big deal.”
I was ready to decline when Blue’s voice cut through my hesitation.
‘Say yes,’ she nudged gently. ‘Let’s try something different here. We can have friends.’
The weight of old memories pressed on me, especially Bianca and the way our friendship had unraveled. Still, I found myself nodding.
“Sure,” I said, a little surprised by my own response. “That would be nice.”
After exchanging numbers, Tommaso and Mom reappeared. They seemed to have hit it off, and I watched them with mild amusement as they said their goodbyes.
As they drove off, I shot my mom a curious look, a strange feeling settling in my stomach. Was it jealousy? No, that didn’t make sense. She deserved friends as much as I did.
—
Later that evening, as we settled into the house, Mom stood in front of the fridge, scanning its mostly empty shelves.
“What should I make for dinner?” she mused, more to herself than to me.
‘Lasagna?’ Blue joked in my mind, her tone playful.
‘Nah, betting on Sushi,’ I laughed quietly. ‘We just had Lasagna.’
“How about Sushi?” Mom declared with a grin, shutting the fridge door.
“You read my mind,” I smirked, leaning back against the worn couch. Despite the simplicity of the house and the furniture, it was starting to feel like a fresh start. Mom seemed happier, lighter somehow, as if the burden of our past had eased just a little. If this place could change her, maybe it could change me too.
After ordering takeout, we ate quietly together, the house still filled with the scent of new beginnings.
“Do you think I could start school tomorrow?” I asked, surprising both of us with how quickly the words tumbled out.
Mom blinked at me, clearly caught off guard. “I thought you’d want to wait until next week. Take some time to settle in.”
“I’d rather stay busy,” I admitted. Distraction was the only thing keeping me going. Mom understood that better than anyone-she was the same way. It didn’t surprise me when she told me she’d be starting work on Monday.
“All right,” she said, her voice soft with understanding. “I’ll call the school and get everything set up.”
As she made her phone calls, I carried a few bags to my new room. Though smaller than my old one, it had a cozy window seat overlooking the front yard. I spread out my blankets and set up a few personal touches to make it feel more like home. At last, I pulled out the damaged book from my bag, frowning as more pages slipped loose. I’d gathered some hot glue and tape from the store, intent on repairing it, even if it wouldn’t look perfect.
The process felt strangely therapeutic, as though piecing the book back together mirrored the way I was trying to put myself back together. It was far from perfect-some pages were glued in the wrong order, and the cover was still ragged-but it held. And so did I. The pain of the past lingered, but I knew I was getting stronger, even if the healing was slow.
As I leafed through the pages, I paused on a random lyric, one that had always resonated with me during tough times:
“Chasing Shadows”
(Verse 1)
Running through the echoes of yesterday,
I reach for memories that fade away.
Caught in a dream that’s slipping fast,
What would I do if I held the past?
I let the words sink in, finding solace in their bittersweet truth. Even in the face of everything, I was still here. And that, for now, was enough.