I drove into the neighborhood of my hometown after being away for four years. The same old sign stood at the edge of town, rust creeping up its edges. "Welcome to Havenwood – All Are Welcome," it read, though the fading paint made it hard to tell if that was still true. I smiled as memories rushed in—bike rides down this street, summer nights catching fireflies. My old house stood just as I remembered it, though a swing set in the yard told me a new family had made it theirs.

Havenwood, Oklahoma. A beautiful place full of nice and lovely people. At least, that's how I remembered it. I watched as a young couple walked their dogs, talking as their two small dogs pulled at their leashes as if to say ‘Hurry up!’ I chuckled, pulling into the parking lot of my new apartment building. I hadn’t been here since I left, running off to Norman four years ago to start a life in the city. It looks the same. Same people, though a bit older, same buildings though peeling paint. It was the same but felt so different, like a memory I can’t quite reach.

I popped open my trunk, grabbing two heavy bags when a voice called out.

“Well hey there, new neighbor?” a girl called out, stepping off the sidewalk with a friendly wave.

“Yeah,” I said, turning to face her. “Lily Warrens. You?”

“Astrid Hickory,” she said with a grin. “I’d stay and chat but I gotta run to the store. I’m just up in 3B if you need anything, alright?”

“Will do, thanks!” I replied, offering a small smile.

Inside, the apartment was small and bare, but it was mine. I began unpacking, the familiar scent of the boxes filling the air reminding me of college moves and fleeting independence. While unpacking, I came across a worn family photo—me standing in front of Mom in little pigtails, Ryan grinning with his crooked teeth as he wrapped his arms around me. Mom and Dad stood behind us, holding hands, their smiles wide and genuine. I remembered how we’d matched that day—me and Mom in lavender dresses, Ryan and Dad in navy blue.

Ryan had cried that morning because he wanted to match me, not Dad. I still remember his red face, his tiny fists clenched, and how he only calmed down when Mom promised he could wear a bow like mine. He’d insisted on a purple one, of course, just to be different.

We were inseparable back then. But now… now we barely speak. A chasm had grown between us, a silent, painful divide I didn’t know how to bridge. It had been there even before the accident. Before they were gone.

I hadn’t even said goodbye to our parents. Not when they died. Not once since I left for Norman. And I hadn’t been back—not until now. Coming back was supposed to help me with that but so far, it just hurt. Tears formed in my eyes at the happy memory, the weight of my guilt pressing down on me.

“I’m here now, guys,” I whispered, looking at the picture before placing it carefully on my kitchen counter. "I hope that is enough for you."