Chapter 10 - The Warmth of Home
The sun was dipping below the horizon when we finally returned to our condo by the sea, the car trunk loaded down with seashells, driftwood sculptures, and tired sunburns.
Barnaby bounded out of the back seat the moment I parked, barking happily as he raced up the wooden outdoor staircase toward our front door.
"Last one inside has to wash the dishes!" Sophie shouted, grabbing her beach bag and sprinting past the dog toward the landing.
"Hey, that's cheating! You had a head start!" I laughed, jogging up behind her as she fumbled playfully with the keys before swinging the door open wide.
The apartment smelled faintly of cedarwood and salt air. Inside, the living room glowed warmly under the amber lamps I had left turned on before we departed. On the coffee table sat a framed photograph taken just the week before at Sophie’s middle school graduation: Sophie standing tall in a bright yellow dress, holding her honor roll certificate in one hand while I stood beside her with my arm around her shoulder, both of us smiling so widely our cheeks hurt.
Sophie dropped her beach bag by the door, kicked off her sandy sandals, and collapsed onto the living room rug with Barnaby draped immediately across her lap.
"Best weekend ever," she declared, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars pasted across her bedroom ceiling visible down the hall.
"Not quite done yet," I said, walking into the kitchen and pulling a box of homemade chocolate chip cookies out of the pantry—baked fresh by our neighbor Mrs. Gable two doors down.
I brought a plate of warm cookies and two glasses of milk into the living room, setting them on the coffee table before sitting down in the armchair opposite the sofa.
Sophie sat up, grabbed a cookie, and took a bite, her eyes shining with contentment.
"Dad?"
"Yeah, buddy?"
"Do you think we'll ever move away from the ocean?"
May you like
I looked around the room—at the ocean breeze drifting through the open bay window, at the glowing stars on her ceiling, at the happy dog snoring softly on the rug, and at my daughter, whose life had expanded into something bright, safe, and boundless.
"Not a chance," I smiled, raising my glass of milk in a silent
