Chloe in Willowmere

As the last of the party guests drifted away and the strings of fairy lights began to glow more brightly against the deepening dusk, Chloe found herself walking slowly between the garden beds with Mr. Chen. The air still carried the faint sweetness of Marco's ruined cake, but now it was mingled with the earthier scents of tomato vines and mint. Mr. Chen walked beside her in comfortable silence until they reached the raised beds, where he stopped and looked at her with something she hadn't seen before — something like pride, or perhaps recognition. 'You stayed,' he said, and it wasn't a question. Chloe smiled, the wildflower wreath Rosie had made still perched slightly askew in her auburn hair. 'Where else would I go?' she asked. Mr. Chen gave her that rare, almost-smile of his. 'Some people would have kept walking.' Chloe thought about that — about all the other places she could have wandered to, all the other benches and doorsteps and towns that might have taken her in. 'I guess I'm not some people,' she said quietly, and as they sat together watching the fireflies begin to rise from the darkening rows of vegetables, she understood that belonging wasn't something you found. It was something you chose, again and again, until it chose you back.