Page 18 of Key West Promises

"Jasmine," Kaitlyn supplied, grateful for the distraction. "They bloom at night. My mother used to grow them."

Carla settled beside them, adjusting Jack in her lap. "You don't talk about your mother much."

"Not much to say." Kaitlyn focused on her camera settings, though she hadn't taken a photo in hours. "Sometimes the people closest to us are the ones we understand the least."

"Mama," Dominic called from across the room, "look what I made!" He held up another drawing—their tree, but with birds nesting in its branches. Safe. Protected. Everything a should be.

Kaitlyn's phone lay silent in her pocket, powered off against the weight of unanswered calls and unopened messages. On her camera's memory card, dozens of photos captured life at Paradise Harbor House—all carefully framed to tell stories of hope and healing. None showing the photographer's own fractured reflection.

"You're good with them," Carla said quietly as Christina added the last flower to her masterpiece. "Patient. Like you understand."

"Maybe I do." Kaitlyn managed a smile that felt only slightly cracked. "Sometimes the best way to heal is to help others do the same.”

Later, as she uploaded the children's artwork to the Paradise Harbor House website, Kaitlyn found herself pausing on Christina's drawing. The figures stood together, holding hands, their crayon smiles bright against the paper. A family not perfect, but present. Real in all the ways that mattered.

Kaitlyn sat on a porch rocking chair, her camera beside her, reviewing the day's photos on her laptop.

The children's artwork had already been scanned and uploaded, but she found herself returning to one image—a candid shot she'd caught of Carla reading to her children under their tree.

The photo was taken from behind, showing only silhouettes against the setting sun. No faces, as promised, but the story was there in every line: the way Carla's shoulders curved protectively around her children, how Christina leaned into her mother's side while helping Dominic follow along with the words, little Jack's hands reaching for the pages. A family holding on to each other in the face of everything that had tried to pull them apart.

The screen of her phone lit up beside her—not a call this time, but an email notification. The preview showed her mother's name and a subject line that made her stomach clench: "Found some old family photos…"

She closed the laptop with more force than necessary, startling a gecko that had been watching from the railing.

"Careful with that," a voice said behind her. "Technology doesn't like rough handling."

Elena stood in the doorway, two mugs of tea sending steam into the cooling air. She handed one to Kaitlyn before settling beside her on another rocking chair.

"Long day," Elena observed, blowing on her tea. "But productive. The children's artwork idea was inspired. Shows exactly what Paradise Harbor House means to the people who matter most."

"It was Carla's suggestion." Kaitlyn wrapped her hands around the warm mug, anchoring herself in the present moment. "She's…she's trying so hard to give them stability. To let them still be children despite everything."

"Sometimes that's the hardest part," Elena said carefully. "Letting people hold on to their joy when the world seems determined to take it away."

She paused, studying Kaitlyn's profile in the fading light. "You understand that better than most, I think."

Kaitlyn's fingers tightened on the mug. "What do you mean?"

"Just that you have a way with our families. Especially the children. You see what they need—whether it's space to draw, or permission not to smile for a camera, or…" She trailed off as voices drifted through the screen door behind them.

Carla appeared, Dominic half-asleep against her shoulder. "He wanted to say goodnight," she explained. "And thank you for putting his tree picture on the computer."

"Of course," Kaitlyn said, managing a smile that felt almost real. "He's quite the artist."

“It’s got birds in it," Dominic mumbled sleepily. "'Like a real family tree."

Something sharp and cold twisted in Kaitlyn's chest. Family trees. Branches that split and divided, roots that ran deeper than anyone could see. She stood abruptly, gathering her equipment. "I should go. It's getting late."

"Kaitlyn," Elena called as she reached the gate. "Remember what I said about joy? Sometimes we have to choose it, even when it's hard. Even when it feels impossible."

Kaitlyn nodded and twirled the ring on her right hand. “What do you do when impossible doesn’t feel like a strong enough word.”

Elena smiled. “Float…you just float.”

The walk home was longer than usual, each step weighted with unspoken words. Through windows and over fences, Kaitlyn caught glimpses of other families ending their day—dinners being shared, children being tucked in, the comfortable rhythms of lives unfolding together.

Her phone buzzed again. Another email from her mother: "Please, sweetheart. We need to talk about what you found…"

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