Anne opened the door with one of those wide, crooked smiles she used to flash whenever she was trying to sneak out past curfew. Only this time, she had a toddler on her hip and another tugging at her shirt.
"Callum! About time," she said, stepping aside to let him in. "Max, say hi to Uncle Cal."
"Unca Cal!" the younger one shrieked, arms flailing, clearly not sure if he wanted to hug or tackle.
"Hey, buddy," Callum said with a laugh, catching the toddler in his arms and letting himself be swayed backward by the sheer force of affection. "Whoa, you got strong. Been lifting juice boxes or what?"
Anne snorted and shut the door behind them. "That's all him. Come in, come in, we got pizza and chaos."
The smell hit him the moment he stepped inside. Tomato sauce, something cheesy, and the telltale scent of crayon wax. The house looked lived-in. Warm. A tangle of toys in the corner, drawings taped to the fridge, and a big, framed photo of her family right above the TV.
He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
It was like coming home.
They ate on the couch, plates balanced on knees, cartoons playing in the background for the kids who barely touched their food before leaping off to reenact some superhero moment. Anne watched them like she had invisible reins on them, laughing and redirecting with a single raised eyebrow.
"You're really good at this," Callum said between bites.
"Motherhood?" she asked. "I wing it. Daily. But I'm glad it looks functional."
"More than functional. They adore you."
"They think I control the Wi-Fi. Of course they adore me."
He grinned.
Later, when the kids had passed out on the beanbags in a pile of limbs and blankies, and her husband, James, had gone to prep something in the garage, the two of them sat on the back porch with mugs of coffee. The sky was dark velvet, stars peeking through the cloud layers.
"You'll be a great dad someday," Anne said quietly, eyes on the backyard.
Callum let the thought hang.
"Mom and Dad keep wondering when they'll hear wedding bells," she added. "I keep telling them you're married to the job."
"It's not far from the truth," he replied with a shrug. "I barely have time to cook something that isn't microwaved. I don't even keep plants."
"But that doesn't mean you can't like someone." She turned to look at him. "Do you?"
His throat dried. Lara's name skated across his mind like a curse.
He took a sip of coffee.
"I like… peace and quiet," he deflected with a smirk.
She groaned, tossing a throw pillow at him. "You suck."
"You walked into that one."
They lapsed into companionable silence. A cricket chirped somewhere near the fence.
"Visited the old town lately?" he asked.
Anne leaned back in her chair. "Couple of months ago. Took the kids to the park where we used to bike. It looks so small now."
"It always felt big when we were kids."
"Milo still lives two blocks from Mom and Dad," she said, grinning. "Says you owe him a beer and a catch-up session."
Callum chuckled. "I probably do. Last time we talked, he was deep in a conspiracy theory about the new mayor."
"He's still full of those. He says hello, by the way. And that you're the most boring out of all of us now."
"He wouldn't be wrong."
Anne nudged his shoulder. "You're not boring, Cal. You're just… weathered. Like a fine teacher-shaped bottle of whiskey."
"That's poetic. I'll take it."
More silence, filled with shared memory.
He didn't realize how much he missed this.
The ease. The laughter. The way his sister's sarcasm could pull him back from the weird, dark places his head liked to go.
If only the calm lasted.
If only ghosts didn't follow him across state lines.
He spent another full day with Anne and the kids, soaking up the warmth and chaos like he hadn't done in years. They baked cookies—well, mostly burned them—played board games that devolved into giggles, and watched animated movies on repeat. The second night, he read the boys bedtime stories until his voice went hoarse, and let them fall asleep with their tiny hands clinging to his.
When Anne hugged him at the airport the next morning, she lingered a second longer.
"Don't stay a stranger," she murmured. "You're good with the messy parts, too, you know."
Callum smiled faintly. "I'll visit again soon."
He meant it.
But as the plane lifted off, the quiet he carried didn't feel as restful anymore. It felt like waiting. Like something ticking beneath his skin, waiting to go off the moment his feet hit the ground again.