10:A SHARED MOMENT

The sun fell soft on the hills that afternoon, casting long shadows over the dirt road that led to Michael's home. Elizabeth took her time walking, the bundle of papers held close to her chest like a heartbeat. She had almost finished the story — the lantern girl's journey — but something in her hesitated to write the final line.

Some stories needed to breathe before they ended.

When she reached the gate, Lily was already outside, crouched in the grass with her hands buried in the soil. She was humming, soft and off-key, her small mouth forming shapes with no sound.

Elizabeth paused, not wanting to startle her.

But Lily looked up, her cheeks streaked with dirt, and smiled.

Not the tentative smile of last time. A full one.

Elizabeth returned it, and Lily stood, patting the earth from her knees before walking to the gate.

She opened it herself.

Elizabeth blinked. "I think that's the first time you've come to get me."

Lily shrugged, then reached up and tugged gently on Elizabeth's sleeve.

"Alright, Alright," Elara whispered. "Lead the way." She smiled happily.

---

Inside, Michael was bent over an old wooden box, his hands full of tangled strings and tiny jars of nails. He looked up as they entered and gave a crooked grin. "Caught me mid-chaos."

"What are you building?" Elizabeth asked, setting the story pages on the table.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I… I wasn't sure if it was too soon. Or too much. But I thought maybe Lily might like a small bookshelf. For the stories you've been reading."

Lily, hearing this, tilted her head.

"A special shelf," Michael added, "for the ones you and Elizabeth make together."

Lily stared at him for a moment, then walked to the box and touched one of the planks. She looked up and gave a quiet nod.

Michael exhaled like he'd been holding his breath all morning.

"She approves," Elizabeth said with a soft smile.

He glanced at her. "Think you could help paint it?"

"Only if I get to write something underneath where no one will see."

His grin widened. "Deal."

---

Later, while Lily napped on the couch with her sketchpad open across her chest, Michael and Elizabeth sat outside on the porch with mugs of sweet tea. The breeze was warm, lifting the smell of freshly cut wood and sun-drenched leaves.

For a while, they didn't talk.

They just watched the trees move.

Then Michael spoke. "Maggie used to hum when she was cooking. It was the one thing she did without thinking. Some silly old melody from a cartoon she liked as a kid."

Elizabeth looked over at him, quiet.

"I heard Lily humming earlier," he said. "That same tune."

A beat passed.

"I thought she'd forgotten it."

"She didn't," Elizabeth said gently.

He nodded, eyes distant. "After Abby was caught, and she died while fleeing with Lily… I thought maybe Lily was the lucky one. Too young to remember the worst parts. Too young to carry it all."

Elizabeth didn't interrupt.

"But kids don't forget what grief feels like. They just don't know what to call it." He took a long sip of tea. "Sometimes I think she buried it deeper than I did."

Elizabeth swallowed. "She's still carrying it."

"I know." He looked at her. "But you've helped her start setting it down."

Elizabeth felt that ache again — the one that always surprised her with how full it was. "She's helped me too."

Michael studied her face. "You always look like you're halfway somewhere."

"What do you mean?"

"Like you're in the room. But also… not."

Elizabeth laughed, quietly. "That's not far off."

"You lost someone," he said gently. "Before Jeremy."

Her smile faltered.

Michael didn't push.

Instead, she reached into her purse and pulled out a small photo — worn at the corners, edges curling. She passed it to him.

A younger Elizabeth. Barely twenty. Hair shorter. Laugh brighter. And beside her, a woman with paint on her arms and her eyes squinting from laughter.

"My twin sister. Celine."

Micah looked between the photo and Elizabeth.

"She was wild," Elizabeth said. "Unapologetic. She once shaved half her head just because someone dared her. She told me to write even when I had nothing to say."

"What happened?"

Elizabeth looked out over the hills. "Car accident. We were nineteen. I never really… stepped back into the world after that. Not fully."

A heavy exhale next. "Jeremy was the first person to pull me out of the grief. But guess what? He plunged me deeper. "

Michael handed the photo back carefully. "But you're here now."

She met his eyes. "So are you."

They didn't kiss.

They didn't even touch.

But something passed between them, just the same. A quiet knowing. A permission neither of them had ever given before.

---

That evening, Lily awoke from her nap and padded over to Elizabeth, who was packing up her things.

She tugged at her sleeve again and pointed to the story pages.

"You want to hear the ending?" Elizabeth asked.

Lily nodded slowly.

Elizabeth sat back down on the couch, Lily beside her, their shoulders touching.

> "The lantern girl and the broken-light girl sat in the tree until morning. They didn't speak. They didn't need to. The stars began to fade, but the lanterns still glowed — one soft, one flickering. They had climbed through storms and silence. And now, finally, they were not alone."

Elizabeth stopped reading.

Lily looked up at her, expectant.

"There's one more line," Elizabeth said. "But I haven't written it yet."

Lily reached for a crayon and slowly traced something onto the final blank margin.

A single word.

Home.

Elizabeth stared at it.

Then she leaned down and kissed the top of Lily's head.

"Perfect," she whispered. "It's perfect."

---

That night, as she walked back through the dusk, Elizabeth whispered the final line aloud to the stars.

> "They didn't need to be rescued. They just needed someone to climb with."

And for the first time in a very long time, she felt like maybe she, too, had finally stopped climbing alone.