But they looked just as I remembered them.
And somehow, that was enough.
Ethan showed me the rest of the house.
My old bedroom had its familiar pale-yellow walls.
The window seat where I’d spent countless afternoons reading was still there.
So was the small shelf Dad built for my stuffed animals.
Even the badly painted little flower I’d drawn above the light switch had been recreated.
I laughed through my tears.
“You kept my terrible flower?”
Ethan grinned.
“I wouldn’t dare remove a masterpiece.”
Then he led me into the backyard.
The oak tree stood in the same place.
And hanging beneath its branches was a wooden swing.
My swing.
The thick ropes.
The uneven wooden seat.
The familiar shape.
I walked toward it and touched the wood.
Then I sat down.
For a moment, I could almost hear Dad calling from behind me.
“Hold on tight, sweetheart!”
