Chapter Seventeen: Home Is a Ghost

The morning after the studio — after the paint, the laughter, the soft groans echoing in the attic beams — was oddly quiet.

The kind of quiet that doesn't come with peace. Just a sense that something's about to shift.

Piper stood in the kitchen, barefoot, wrapped in one of Alex's hoodies, her mug of tea forgotten on the counter. The light from the high windows spilled across the tiled floor like a soft invitation back to bed.

But the phone in her hand buzzed again.

Polly (5 missed calls).

The moment she saw the name, she knew.

Not danger. Just… reality.

She answered on the sixth ring.

"Pipes?" Polly's voice was sharp and breathless on the other end. "Jesus, finally. Where are you?"

Piper swallowed, throat tight. "Still here. Still… away."

"I got a notice from the lawyer. Harper's trust. The estate. The insurance stuff — everything's ready to be processed. You have to sign."

Piper closed her eyes. "Right."

"And the apartment's lease is expiring. We have to clear your things. I've been stalling but — they need you. Just for a few days. You don't even have to stay in the city. Just… come back. Tie the ends."

Tie the ends.

Like grief was a package that could be knotted shut and tucked into a closet.

"I'll book a flight," Piper said quietly.

Alex didn't say anything when Piper told her.

She just nodded.

"Do you need anything from the town before you go?"

Like Piper was heading to the post office. Not back into the ruins of a life she'd abandoned.

"I won't be long," Piper added quickly. "Just papers. Some packing."

Alex only nodded again.

The silence between them was louder than the space deserved.

So Piper crossed to her. Took her hand. Let her thumb stroke the place where Alex's knuckles were always tense.

"I'll come back."

Alex looked at her. Really looked.

"I know."

But something in her eyes said she also knew how many people Piper had said that to — and how few ever kept it.

Two Days Later.

The U.S. smelled different.

Sharper.

The apartment was emptier than she remembered — but somehow still full of ghosts. Harper's flamingo sat on the kitchen counter, propped up like it had been waiting.

Piper cried for the first time in weeks.

She stayed two nights in the guest room at Polly's. Signed papers. Met with the lawyer. Talked about taxes and trusts like they weren't soaked in memory.

The worst part?

She almost got used to it.

The rhythm of old life. Old clothes. Old expectations.

It would've been easy to forget.

Except every time she closed her eyes, she saw paint smudged across a bare thigh, heard Alex's voice in the dark, remembered the way her fingers had trembled the night Piper said Harper's name aloud.

So when the lawyer passed her a pen and said, "Is there a plan for the funds?" — Piper looked down at the account balance.

And said, "Yes."

Back at Rosemoor, three days later, she walked into the conservatory with a signed deed in her hand.

Alex was watering the orchids.

Piper didn't speak at first. Just watched her.

That familiar calm. That infuriating stillness.

And the flicker of surprise when she finally turned and saw Piper there.

"You came back," Alex said quietly.

"I bought in."

Alex blinked. "What?"

Piper stepped closer, held out the deed.

"I used the insurance money," she said. "Not all of it. But enough. Enough to make sure this place stays yours. Ours."

Alex took the paper. Stared at it.

"You didn't have to—"

"I wanted to," Piper interrupted. "It's not charity. It's not guilt. It's me choosing something. Someone. Finally."

Alex looked at her, eyes glassy now. Lips parting. Chest rising and falling like she didn't trust the air.

"I don't know what to say."

Piper stepped closer again.

"Say you'll keep letting me in."

Alex pulled her in like she'd been drowning without her.

And for the first time since the hospital, since the loss, since the crack that shattered everything—Piper felt like she was building something again.