But now… it was mine.
And I was finally ready to claim it.
I found Sawyer in his shop, working on a coffee table that looked like it had been through three hurricanes and still believed in second chances. He looked up when I walked in, and that quiet smile of his bloomed across his face.
“I got in,” I said.
He put down the sander. “Oaklight?”
I nodded.
His smile widened. “That’s incredible, Willa.”
And for a second, I couldn’t speak.
Because I expected part of me to panic. To start plotting an escape hatch. To flinch at the idea of someone being proud of me without strings attached.
But all I felt was this soft, unshakeablerightness.
“I almost didn’t apply,” I said.
“I know.”
“I almost didn’t tell you I got in.”
“I know that too.”
“And I almost convinced myself I wasn’t good enough.”
He stepped closer. “But you didn’t,” he said. “You showed up. You tried. You stayed.”
“I’m still staying.”
His hands found mine.
And it was everything.
That night,we had dinner on the porch. All five of us. Me, Harper, June, Lily, and Sawyer—who was now officially just part of the rhythm.
Harper made roasted vegetables from an old, rustic cookbook. June brought out the good plates, even though I reminded her we were still very much paper napkin people. Lily insisted on lighting candles and called it “the fancy vibes.”
We didn’t toast.
No one made speeches.
But the feeling—God, the feeling—was thick in the air. Like laughter and lemon and the slow, golden echo of people finally stepping into who they were always meant to be.
At one point, Harper looked at us and said, “We’re different.”
We all glanced at each other.
“I think that’s the point,” June said softly.
“No,” Harper clarified. “I mean… we’regood.We’re not just surviving anymore.”
Willa nodded. “We’re choosing.”
And somehow, that was the loudest declaration of all.
