(Scarlett’s POV)
The plane touches down with a gentle bump, and I feel Lily's small hand slip into mine.
"Are we really home, Mama?" she asks, her dark eyes wide as she peers out the tiny window.
Home. The word feels strange on my tongue. This city stopped being home the night Jasper left me on that highway. But maybe it can be again. Maybe I can make it mine this time.
"We're here, habibti," I tell her, using the Arabic endearment that feels natural now.
Lily nods, pressing her face against the window. At four years old, she's already learned not to ask too many questions about the past. She knows we lived far away before this, in a small town where I learned to bake bread that could make people cry with happiness. She knows her father isn't in our life, but she's never asked why.
S
