Aunt Rosa’s

Over the next few days, Kyle let himself ease into the rhythm of a life he never expected to have again. One without surveillance, secrets, or survival instincts constantly humming in the back of his brain.

They went shopping together. They cooked in tandem, trading off chopping vegetables and arguing over recipes. He paid for things without blinking, and when Nora protested—"Kyle, this is too much!"—he just said, "It's part of the scholarship package. Living expenses, remember?"

She narrowed her eyes at him but didn't push too hard.

When she wasn't looking, he bought her new shoes, fresh flowers, even a deluxe massage chair she didn't ask for. He had the money from Mr. Leione, and he used it without hesitation—used it like it was borrowed time.

Nora, suspicious but grateful, tried to stop him. She kept stuffing money into envelopes and hiding them in kitchen drawers, "for later," "for emergencies," or "for tuition." But Kyle would always find them and put them right back in her wallet.

Each night, after she fell asleep, Kyle would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling fan spinning above. His phone stayed silent most nights. Occasionally, a text from Mr. Leione would appear—short, professional:

"Status?"

And Kyle would reply:

"Still with family. Starting after the month. All calm."

Then he'd switch the phone off and stare into the dark.

The days rolled forward like honey—slow, golden, and rich with moments he hadn't realized he'd missed.

One afternoon, they went hiking together. It was Nora's idea. She wore an old sunhat and hiking boots that barely fit, and insisted on taking photos of every mossy rock and bird they passed.

"This trail used to scare me when I was young," she told him, stopping to catch her breath. "I always thought a bear would come out and grab me."

Kyle laughed. "Pretty sure I'd win in that fight."

She gave him a playful look. "Let's not test that, okay?"

She didn't know. She'd never know. He couldn't tell her that a bear had come at him—and lost. That part of him, whatever he was now, whatever strength lived in his cells and muscles and bones... it wasn't normal anymore.

But he didn't think about that for long. Because the trail opened up into a sunlit clearing, and they sat side by side on a bench carved into the hill. She leaned on him, and he let her.

"You're growing up so fast," she whispered.

"Trying not to," he replied.

And maybe that was the truth, too.

By the third week, Nora started calling him "Mr. Moneybags."

"Okay, Jeff Bezos," she said when he ordered sushi from the best restaurant in town.

"I'm just making memories," Kyle said.

"Memories are cheaper when they don't involve lobster," she quipped.

He laughed and reached over to steal a piece off her plate.

But even as they joked, Kyle worked in the background—quietly, subtly. He made connections. He introduced Nora to some of the elderly women who ran the local flower shop, befriended a neighbor who played chess at the park every weekend. He nudged conversations, planted seeds, made acquaintances.

He wouldn't be around forever.

Someone had to watch over her when he left.

And even if she didn't know what he was protecting her from, Kyle knew exactly how important this web of people would be.

He smiled one evening, watching her chat with Mrs. Halberd, the retired nurse next door. She was laughing in a way he hadn't heard in a long time.

The month blurred by, and he had to visit aunt Rosa with his mom.

The drive to Aunt Rosa's house took two hours, most of it through countryside blanketed in spring green. Kyle sat in the passenger seat, his arms crossed and his chin resting on his knuckles. His mother, Nora Carter, hummed softly to the radio, fingers tapping the wheel in rhythm.

Kyle didn't ask why they had to go. He already knew.

Rosa Miller was the last sibling Nora had left who still lived nearby. The others had drifted—by choice. Since Kyle's dad died, Nora had clung more tightly to what remained of her blood family. Even when they were cruel.

"Remember to be polite," she said suddenly, her voice tense despite the smile. "You know how your cousins can be. Just let it roll off you, alright?"

Kyle glanced at her. "I know. You love them."

"I do," she said softly. "Even if they don't always make it easy."

They drove in silence after that. The old Miller house stood on a hill just outside Bellfield, a two-story home with fading blue shutters and a squeaky screen door. It looked exactly as Kyle remembered: fixed in time, stubborn and weathered.

Rosa was already on the porch when they pulled up, arms crossed, lips pinched.

Nora forced a smile as they stepped out. "Rosa."

"You're late," Rosa said, hugging her without warmth. "I told you to be here by noon."

Nora let it slide, just like always. "Traffic."

Kyle stood a moment, then stepped forward with a nod. "Hi, Aunt Rosa."

She gave him a look like she was inspecting spoiled fruit. "You've grown taller. Still pale as ever though. You look just like your father."

Kyle didn't flinch. "Thanks. Nice to see you too."

Her lips thinned. "Hmm."

Inside, the house smelled of lemon cleaner and fried onions. Kyle's cousins, Derrick and Troy, were slouched on the couch playing a shooter game, fingers jabbing at controllers like it was a matter of life and death.

They didn't look up until Kyle entered.

"Well, if it isn't the prodigy," Troy muttered, not pausing his game. "Didn't think you'd crawl out of your nerd cave."

"Mom dragged me," Kyle said with a polite smile, settling in a chair.

Derrick snorted. "Still dressing like you shop at the clearance bin, huh?"

"Comfort is underrated," Kyle replied.

"Translation: I have no taste."