Page 75 of Open Arms

“Look at you, Abby. That’s beautiful.” The pride in my voice wasn’t just for show. She had that creative spark just like Abby, turning simple things into something special. A pang hit my chest, but I pushed it away. Today was about beginnings, not worryin’ about the unknown.

“Chloe’s gonna love it,” Abby declared, dusting off her hands as if she’d just completed a masterpiece. And honestly, to me, that’s exactly what it was.

“Love is all about the details, huh?” I ruffled her hair affectionately, the curls bouncing back immediately, untamed as her spirit.

“Yep, and now she’ll have to smile,” she nodded with the certainty only a six-year-old could muster.

I checked the clock above the stove—nearly time. She’d been going to therapy twice a week downtown, and participating in Walker’s Equine Therapy. It had been all been doing a world of good, but both of us could tell that her newfound bond with the horses was healing parts of her she thought were long-broken.

I knew it was still gonna take time to get past all that had happened, but I was here with her for the long haul, and I wanted her to know it.

The seconds ticked by, each one dragging with the weight of expectation. My heart thrummed a nervous beat. God, it felt likewaiting for the curtain to rise on opening night—not that I’d ever been on stage, but the butterflies must be similar.

“Come here, Abby.” I motioned her over to the door where we could peer out the window, the morning sun casting long shadows on the porch.

“Is it time?” she asked, eyes wide, stuffed rabbit clutched in her embrace.

The gravel crunched outside, a telltale sign that cut through the stillness of our wait. Abby’s grip on her rabbit tightened, eyes sparking with a mix of delight and disbelief.

“Is that—” Her words hung mid-air, unfinished but understood.

“Sounds like it,” I replied, setting her down gently. We shared a look, one of those silent conversations where everything’s said without a single word.

I moved toward the door, feeling my own pulse pick up its pace, a drumbeat to the moment we’d all been holding our breath for. As I reached for the handle, the world seemed to pause, suspended in a bubble of anticipation.

“Here we go,” I whispered more to myself than to Abby, and swung the door open.

Chloe stood there, framed by the bright morning light as she looked around the kitchen. For a second, no one moved.

“Welcome home, Chole!” Abby shouted, her glee uncontainable.

“Wow,” she breathed out, and the sound went straight to my heart.

“Welcome home, Chlo.” My voice was steady, but my insides were doing somersaults at the sight of her—blonde hair catching the sun, blue eyes brighter than any sky.

Her gaze swept across the room, lingering on the banner that declared in bright, bold letters her return to us. Theflowers caught her eye next, their colors vibrant against the backdrop of our rustic kitchen. And then, her gaze landed on the table, the plates and napkins a kaleidoscope of welcome.

“You guys did this . . . for me?” It wasn’t just her voice that trembled—it was her whole frame, vibrating with unspoken emotions.

“Of course,” I confirmed, pride swelling in my chest.

Her lips parted, and the tears that welled up in her eyes reflected every ounce of love we’d poured into this surprise. She stepped inside, crossing the threshold into a new chapter—one filled with the promise of healing and the warmth of family.

“Thank you,” she managed, her voice a whisper of awe.

“Chloe, there’s pancakes,” Abby piped up, breaking the spell as she tugged at Chloe’s hand, eager to show off our culinary masterpiece.

“Best in Whittier Falls,” I added with a wink.

Chloe laughed through her tears, and in that sound, I heard the beginning of something beautiful.

Abby’s little arms were a flurry of motion, launching herself at Chloe with the kind of abandon only a six-year-old can muster.

“This is such a warm welcome.” Chloe’s words quivered like leaves in a gentle breeze, each syllable laced with gratitude and something deeper, something akin to wonder. As she hugged Abby back, her eyes met mine over the top of my daughter’s curly head, shining with unshed tears and a vulnerability that tugged at my heartstrings.

Couldn’t help it—I wrapped my arms around them both, pulling us into a group embrace that felt as natural as breathing. Abby’s giggles bubbled up between us, and I felt Chloe relax into the hug, her tension melting away as if our kitchen was a sanctuary made just for her.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” I whispered, knowing full well the power of a family hug.

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