Archive of Our Own ^beta

Evi learned early that silence was safer than noise.

Noise attracted attention, and attention was never good in the Buckley house.

At nine years old, she already knew how to move quietly through hallways, how to breathe shallow when voices rose, how to fold herself smaller on the couch so she didn’t take up space someone might resent later. Maddie had taught her that not with words, but with instinct. Maddie had always known how to survive this house.

Maddie had always known how to survive for Evi.

That morning, Maddie braided Evi’s hair slowly, carefully, fingers gentle against her scalp. She always braided it before something bad happened. Evi didn’t know how she knew only that Maddie did.

“You want the blue ribbon or the yellow one?” Maddie asked, voice soft, like this was a normal morning.

Evi watched their parents bedroom door down the hall. Closed. Quiet. That was worse than yelling.

“Blue,” Evi whispered.

Maddie smiled, small and sad, and tied the ribbon off neatly. She pressed a kiss to the top of Evi’s head and lingered there for just a second too long.

“Listen to me,” Maddie said, crouching so they were eye level. “No matter what happens… you are not the problem. Okay?”

Evi nodded because Maddie needed her to. She nodded even though her stomach hurt and her chest felt too tight, like something was already breaking.

That afternoon, Maddie left.

Evi watched from the living room window as Maddie loaded the last bag into the car. Doug stood by the driver’s side, impatient, tapping his fingers against the door. Maddie turned once, like she could feel Evi watching her, and for a split second their eyes met through the glass.

Maddie’s mouth trembled.

Evi lifted her hand.

Maddie didn’t wave back. She pressed her hand to her chest instead, then turned away quickly, like looking hurt too much.

The car pulled out of the driveway.

Evi waited.

She waited an hour. Then two. Then the sun started to set, and Margaret’s heels clicked sharply across the kitchen floor.

“She’s not coming back,” Margaret said flatly, not looking at her.

Evi nodded again. She was good at that.

They told her she died two weeks later.

There was no buildup. No softening. Phillip stood stiffly in the doorway while Margaret folded laundry with unnecessary precision.

“There was a fire,” Margaret said. “Maddie was caught inside. Her body… it was too damaged.”

Evi stared at her mother’s hands. They didn’t shake.

“Oh,” Evi said.

She waited for something inside her to explode. For pain, or screaming, or tears.

Nothing came.

“Am I allowed to cry?” she asked quietly.

Margaret finally looked at her then, eyes sharp. Annoyed.

“Don’t be dramatic.”

So Evi didn’t cry.

She cried later, alone, into her pillow, so quietly she barely made a sound. She whispered Maddie’s name like a prayer. Like maybe if she said it enough times, Maddie would hear her wherever she was and know Evi hadn’t stopped loving her.

A month later, they packed the car.

Margaret didn’t explain where they were going. Phillip didn’t look at her once.

They drove through the night. It was a long drive.

When the car finally stopped, Evi looked out the window and saw a building with bright red doors and a sign that said FIRE STATION. Her breath puffed white in the cold when Margaret opened the door.

“Get out,” she said.

Evi did.

Margaret handed her a backpack too light, like it didn’t belong to her. Then she placed an envelope into Evi’s hands.

“We can’t do this anymore,” Margaret said. “You’re… just too much. Just so exhausting.”

The words landed heavier than any slap ever had.

The car door closed. The engine started. Tires crunched against snow.

Evi didn’t chase them.

She sat on the cold steps and hugged the backpack to her chest. The envelope shook in her hands, but she didn’t open it. It felt like proof she wasn’t wanted, and she already knew that.

She waited.

When the fire station door opened, warm air spilled out along with the smell of coffee and smoke.

A man stepped out.

He froze when he saw her.

“Oh,” he said softly.

He was tall, tired looking, eyes kind but haunted in a way Evi recognized immediately. He knelt in front of her, careful not to scare her.

“Hey, kid,” he said. “You okay?”

Evi shook her head once. It felt honest.

He took off his jacket without thinking and draped it around her shoulders. It swallowed her whole, heavy and warm.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Evi,” she whispered.

“I’m Bobby,” he said. “You wanna come inside, Evi? It’s warm. You don’t have to sit out here.”

She hesitated. People always said things they didn’t mean.

But his voice didn’t rush her.

So she nodded.

Inside, the lights were too bright and the room too loud, but Bobby stayed close. He crouched beside her while he read the letter, his jaw tightening with every line.

We can’t look after her. We can’t keep her. We don't want her. Please find her a good home.

Bobby folded the letter carefully, like it was fragile.

“You hungry?” he asked.

Evi nodded.

He handed her a grilled cheese that was a little burnt and smiled apologetically. She ate it anyway. It tasted like safety.

He made some calls, Evi watched tv with a few other fire fighters. He explained, he is a registered foster carer, and would like to bring her home with him, and his wife Marcy. He had been approved for emergency placement. Evi just nodded. 

Later, when he brought her home, a woman stood in the doorway wrapped in a cardigan, eyes soft and curious.

“Oh,” she said gently. “Hi.”

“This is Marcy,” Bobby said. “Marcy, this is Evi.”

Marcy didn’t rush forward. She didn’t grab or crowd. She knelt like Bobby had.

“You must be tired,” Marcy said. “We’ve got a room ready for you. Door can stay open or closed. Whatever you like.”

Evi stared at her. No one had ever asked her that before.

“Open,” she said after a moment.

Marcy smiled.

That night, Bobby tucked her in. He hesitated in the doorway.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. “Okay?”

Evi nodded, eyes heavy.

For the first time since Maddie, she slept through the night. 

But, she slept with her shoes on.

Just in case.

Evi woke up before the sun.

She always did.

The room was unfamiliar soft yellow walls, a quilt that smelled faintly like laundry soap instead of dust, a nightlight shaped like a moon glowing dimly from the dresser. For a moment, panic clawed its way up her throat. Her feet hit the floor instantly, shoes still on, heart racing as she took stock of exits and shadows.

She remembered then.

Minnesota.
Fire station.
Bobby.
Marcy.

The panic didn’t vanish, but it quieted enough for her to breathe.

She crept out of bed and walked toward the doorway. The door was still open, just like Marcy had promised every night. Down the hall, a light was on in the kitchen.

Evi hesitated.

Adults didn’t like being woken up. Adults didn’t like questions. Adults didn’t like kids who hovered.

But the smell drifting down the hall coffee, toast, something sweet wrapped around her like an invitation.

She took a step. Then another.

Marcy stood at the stove in socked feet and an oversized sweater, hair loose down her back. She turned when she heard Evi’s footsteps and smiled not surprised, not annoyed.

“Morning,” Marcy said softly. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Evi shrugged. It felt safer than telling the truth.

Marcy nodded like that made perfect sense. “I made too much oatmeal. You want some?”

“Yes,” Evi said immediately, then corrected herself. “Please.”

Marcy’s smile widened just a fraction. “Blue bowl or green?”

Evi blinked. “It matters?”

“Only if you want it to,” Marcy replied easily.

Evi thought for a moment. “Green.”

Marcy slid the bowl across the table and set a spoon beside it, then sat down across from her instead of hovering. She didn’t stare. She didn’t ask questions. She just sipped her coffee and let the quiet stretch.

It was… nice. Terrifying, but nice.

Bobby appeared a few minutes later, hair rumpled, eyes still heavy with sleep. He paused when he saw Evi at the table.

“Oh,” he said, clearly pleased. “You’re up early.”

Evi nodded, spoon clutched tightly in her hand.

“Well,” Bobby said, grabbing a mug, “that makes all of us, then.”

He sat down beside Marcy, not too close, not too far, and started talking about the weather like it was the most important thing in the world. Snow later. Cold week ahead. Roads might ice over.

Evi listened, absorbing the rhythm of his voice. It was steady. Predictable.

Safe.

The days that followed unfolded slowly, like Marcy was careful not to spook her.

They didn’t ask Evi to unpack right away. Her backpack stayed by the door, exactly where she could see it. When Marcy washed her clothes, she folded them neatly and placed them back inside instead of putting them in drawers.

“Just in case,” Marcy said lightly.

Evi watched her like a hawk.

Marcy and Bobby got her some new clothes, shoes and other things. Evi couldn't help but run her hand over them. 

She watched for the moment Marcy’s patience would snap, for the sharp words that always came eventually. She waited for Bobby to get tired of checking in, tired of asking if she’d eaten, tired of making room for her at the table.

It didn’t happen.

Instead, Marcy knocked before entering Evi’s room. She asked before brushing Evi’s hair. She never raised her voice, even when Evi spilled juice all over the counter and froze, waiting to be yelled at.

“It’s okay,” Marcy said, handing her a towel. “Accidents happen.”

Evi stared at her. “You’re not mad?”

Marcy tilted her head. “Why would I be?”

Evi didn’t have an answer for that.

The fire alarm went off on the fourth night.

It was just the smoke detector, burnt toast, Bobby swore later but the sound ripped through Evi like a blade. Her body reacted before her mind could catch up. She dropped to the floor, hands clamped over her ears, breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps.

The noise stopped.

Footsteps rushed toward her.

Evi braced herself.

But Marcy didn’t touch her right away.

She sat down on the floor a few feet away, legs crossed, hands resting loosely in her lap. Her voice was calm, low.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You’re safe. It’s just noise.”

Evi shook her head violently, tears burning behind her eyes. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Marcy didn’t move closer.

“I’m right here,” Marcy continued. “You don’t have to do anything. Just breathe when you can.”

Something inside Evi cracked.

The sob tore out of her chest, loud and broken and uncontrollable. She curled in on herself, shoulders shaking, grief and terror spilling out after years of being held tight.

Marcy stayed where she was.

When Evi finally collapsed forward, exhausted, Marcy opened her arms just a little.

“Can I?” she asked.

Evi crawled into her lap like it was instinct, burying her face in Marcy’s sweater. Marcy wrapped her arms around her carefully, rocking gently, singing something soft and tuneless.

“You’re okay,” Marcy whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Evi clutched at her, fingers twisting in the fabric. “Please,” she sobbed. “Please don’t send me away. I'm sorry I didn't mean to burn it."

Marcy’s arms tightened.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Never. Not for anything.”

Evi cried until there was nothing left. And when she finally pulled back, embarrassed and raw, Marcy didn’t look at her like she was too much.

She looked at her like she was loved.

That night, Evi left her shoes by the bed.

It took another week before she took them off entirely at the front door.

One day Marcy brushed Evi’s hair slowly, carefully, like it was something precious.

“You don’t have to call me Mom,” Marcy said gently. “Not unless you want to.”

Evi nodded.

She didn’t say it out loud. Not yet.

But that night, when Marcy kissed her forehead before bed, Evi whispered it into the pillow after the door closed.

“Mom.”

The word didn’t hurt like she thought it would.

It felt like coming home.

Evi learned the rules of the house without anyone ever saying them out loud.

Respect each other.
Talk things through together.
It's okay to do something wrong, just learn from it. 

She kept waiting for the moment Bobby or Marcy would remind her that she was lucky, that she owed them something for taking her in. She waited for the invisible ledger to appear, the one she’d seen all her life, where love was transactional and conditional and easily revoked.

It never came.

Instead, Marcy asked her if she wanted pancakes or eggs on Saturday mornings. Bobby let her sit on the counter while he cooked, even when she worried she was in the way. They let her choose the movie on Friday nights and didn’t complain when she picked the same one twice.

Evi stayed alert anyway.

Safety, she’d learned, was often temporary.

It snowed heavily the first week of December.

Evi stood at the window, watching flakes drift lazily from the sky, piling up on the porch steps and railing. She liked snow. Snow muffled sound. Snow slowed the world down. Snow made things quiet in a way that felt intentional, not threatening.

Marcy joined her at the window, holding two mugs of hot chocolate.

“First real winter?” Marcy asked.

Evi nodded. “We didn’t get much snow in Hershey.”

Marcy handed her a mug. Evi wrapped both hands around it immediately.

“You don’t have to go outside if you don’t want to,” Marcy said. “But if you do, we’ve got boots and coats.”

Evi glanced at her. “You won’t be mad if I don’t?”

Marcy frowned slightly. “Why would I be mad?”

Evi hesitated, then shrugged. “Some people think it’s rude.”

“Well,” Marcy said gently, “you’re allowed to not like things here.”

Evi absorbed that quietly.

Allowed.

She didn’t end up going outside. She watched Bobby shovel the walkway instead, humming to himself, stopping every so often to wave at her through the window. She waved back once before ducking away, cheeks warm.

School started again after winter break.

Evi hated the first day. She hated the way teachers looked at her with pity when they read her file, hated the questions from other kids who could sense something different about her even if they didn’t know what.

Marcy packed her lunch anyway, complete with a note folded carefully into the napkin.

You don’t have to be brave today. Just be you. — M

Evi read it twice before tucking it back into her bag.

The fire alarm went off at school that afternoon.

It wasn’t real, just a drill but it didn’t matter. The sound cut through Evi’s chest like lightning. Her body reacted instantly. She dropped her books, hands flying to her ears as the room tilted violently around her.

She didn’t remember crouching under the desk. She didn’t remember her teacher calling her name.

She remembered the sound.

And then she remembered Marcy’s voice, calm and steady, sitting on the floor with her.

You’re safe.

When the alarm finally stopped, Evi was shaking so badly she couldn’t stand.

The school called Bobby.

He left work immediately.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t scold. He didn’t even ask why.

He crouched in front of her in the nurse’s office, hands loose at his sides.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

Evi nodded automatically.

Bobby didn’t believe her, but he didn’t challenge it either. He just held out his jacket.

“Let’s go home,” he said.

At home, Marcy sat with Evi on the couch while Bobby made hot chocolates. No one lectured her about drills or safety or embarrassment.

Marcy brushed Evi’s hair slowly, carefully.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

Evi shook her head.

“That’s okay,” Marcy said. “You don’t have to.”

They sat in silence until Evi’s breathing slowed.

Later that night, as Marcy tucked her in, Evi whispered, “I didn’t mean to be difficult.”

Marcy froze.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You weren’t.”

Evi’s voice wobbled. “I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I know,” Marcy said firmly. “And even if you had, you wouldn’t be in trouble.”

Evi stared at her, eyes glossy. “Really?”

Marcy nodded. “You’re allowed to have feelings here.”

The words settled deep, like something anchoring her in place.

The adoption paperwork progressed quietly in the background.

Evi pretended not to notice, but she noticed everything the whispered phone calls, the documents spread across the kitchen table, Bobby rubbing his hands together when he was nervous.

She didn’t ask about it.

Asking meant hoping.

One night, she sat at the dining table do homework while Bobby and Marcy talked softly in the kitchen.

“What if she doesn’t want this?” Bobby asked, voice tight.

Marcy smiled sadly. “She wants safety. The rest will come.”

Evi held her breath.

Later, Marcy sat beside her and slid a form across the table.

“There’s a part here we need your help with,” Marcy said gently. “Your name.”

Evi’s stomach twisted.

“What about it?”

“Well,” Marcy said, “we wanted to know if you wanted to keep Buckley as part of it.”

Evi swallowed hard. “I want it to be my middle name.”

Bobby blinked. “Any particular reason?”

Evi picked at the edge of the paper. “Memory of my sister.”

Marcy reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

“That beautiful,” Marcy said softly. “And she knows you loved her.”

Evi nodded, blinking back tears.

The official day came without ceremony.

No balloons. No cake. Just paperwork and quiet smiles and Bobby’s hand resting reassuringly on her shoulder.

The judge smiled at her kindly. “Do you understand what this means, Evi?”

Evi nodded. “It means they’re my family.”

The judge chuckled. “That’s one way to put it.”

When it was done, Marcy hugged her carefully, like she always did, waiting until Evi leaned in first.

Bobby cleared his throat and opened his arms.

Evi hesitated only a second before stepping into them.

He held her like he’d been waiting years to do it.

That night, as Marcy and Bobby kissed her forehead and turned off the light, Evi reached out impulsively and caught her sleeve.

“Marcy? Bobby?” she whispered.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can I… call you Mom? Dad?”

Marcy’s breath hitched.

“Only if you want to,” she said.

"It is up to you Evi." Bobby voice cracked.

Evi nodded, voice barely audible. “I want to.”

Marcy pulled her into a careful hug, pressing her cheek to Evi’s hair. Bobby gave her forehead a kiss.

“I’m so glad,” she whispered.

"We love you." Bobby added.

After the door closed, Evi lay in bed, heart full and aching all at once.

She whispered Maddie’s name into the quiet.

“I’m okay,” she told the dark. “I promise.”

For the first time, she believed it.

Evi knew something was different before anyone said it out loud.

Marcy sang more.

Not loudly, never loudly but under her breath while folding laundry or washing dishes, like she was holding a secret that made the air lighter. Bobby smiled more too, softer around the edges, like he was trying not to jinx something just by acknowledging it.

Evi watched them carefully from the kitchen table, pencil poised over her homework but not really seeing the page.

Finally, one night after dinner, Bobby cleared his throat.

“So,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “We wanted to tell you something.”

Evi’s stomach dropped.

This was usually the part where adults explained why things were about to change.

Marcy reached across the table and took Evi’s hand. She waited until Evi looked at her.

“We’re going to have a baby,” Marcy said gently.

The words landed strangely not sharp, not soft. Just… heavy.

“A baby,” Evi repeated.

Bobby nodded. “Yes. A baby.”

Evi nodded too, automatically. She smiled when they smiled. She said, “That’s good,” because that was the correct response.

Inside, panic bloomed.

Babies took time. Babies took attention. Babies made families whole in ways Evi wasn’t sure she fit into. Baby means biologically theirs, not like...

That night, she lay awake staring at the ceiling, counting cracks in the plaster and imagining all the ways she could become unnecessary.

The pregnancy progressed slowly, carefully.

Marcy got tired more easily. Bobby hovered more than usual, which earned him gentle eye rolls and fond smiles. Evi stayed out of the way as much as she could, doing extra chores without being asked, folding laundry too neatly, packing her own lunches.

Marcy noticed.

One afternoon, she found Evi scrubbing the already clean kitchen counter with intense focus.

“Sweetheart,” Marcy said softly. “You don’t have to earn your place here.”

Evi froze.

“I wasn’t...” she started, then stopped. There was no point lying.

Marcy stepped closer but didn’t touch her. “This baby isn’t replacing you.”

Evi’s eyes burned. “I know.”

But she didn’t. Not really.

That night, Marcy and Bobby knocked on Evi’s door and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Do you want to help pick names?” she asked.

Evi hesitated. “Really?”

“Really.” Bobby smiled.

Something loosened in her chest.

When Marcy went into labor, it was early morning.

Bobby moved fast but carefully, talking the entire time like the sound of his own voice might keep everything together. Evi stood in the doorway, backpack clutched in her hands, heart pounding.

Marcy stopped on her way out and reached for her.

“You’re okay,” she said. “We’ll be back soon.”

Evi nodded, throat tight.

The house felt too quiet without them.

Hours passed. Evi tried to distract herself with TV, then with reading, then with pacing. Every siren that wailed in the distance made her flinch.

Finally, the phone rang.

Bobby’s voice was thick with emotion. “You’ve got a brother, sweetheart.”

Evi’s breath caught. “Is Mom okay? My brother?”

“She’s perfect,” Bobby said. “They both are.”

At the hospital, the room smelled like antiseptic and something warmer beneath it. Marcy looked tired but glowing, hair mussed, eyes soft. She smiled when she saw Evi.

“Come here,” she said.

Evi approached slowly, reverently.

Bobby lifted the tiny bundle in his arms. “This is Robert Jr.”

Evi stared.

He was impossibly small, face scrunched, fingers curled tight like he was holding onto the world with everything he had.

“Can I…?” Evi asked.

Bobby nodded immediately.

He placed Robert Jr. into her arms carefully, like he trusted her with something precious.

Robert Jr. fussed once, then stilled, tiny hand curling around Evi’s finger.

Something inside her shattered open.

“Oh,” she whispered.

Marcy watched her, eyes shining.

“You’re his big sister,” Marcy said softly. “Nothing changes that.”

Evi nodded, tears slipping down her cheeks unchecked.

She didn’t wipe them away.

From that day on, Evi was everywhere.

She learned how to warm bottles, how to rock him just right, how to tell the difference between hungry cries and tired ones. She slept lightly, listening for any sound from the nursery, heart leaping into her throat every time Robert Jr. made so much as a hiccup.

“Evi, sweetheart” Bobby said one night gently, finding her sitting beside the crib long after Robert Jr. had fallen asleep. “You don’t have to do this all yourself.”

“I want to,” Evi said.

And she meant it.

Robert Jr. grew fast. He smiled early, laughed easily, and reached for Evi instinctively. When he cried, she was often the only one who could calm him.

“He loves you,” Marcy said once, watching them from the doorway.

Evi swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I love him too.”

She did.

She loved the weight of his head against her shoulder, the way his fingers always found her sleeve, the sound of his breathing when he fell asleep in her arms.

She loved him fiercely, without hesitation.

One night, as Marcy tucked Evi in, she brushed a strand of hair back from her face.

“You’re a wonderful sister,” Marcy said.

Evi hesitated, then whispered, “You promise I won’t disappear?”

Marcy stilled.

She leaned down and pressed her forehead to Evi’s.

“You are woven into this family,” she said firmly. “You’re not something that can be removed.”

Evi closed her eyes.

She believed it completely.

Down the hall, Robert Jr. stirred in his crib, then settled again.

Evi smiled into her pillow.

She wasn’t alone anymore.

By the time Marcy told them she was pregnant again, Evi didn’t panic.

Not right away.

Robert Jr. was one, all cute and laughter. He followed Evi everywhere like a shadow, convinced she knew everything worth knowing. When Marcy said the words another baby Robert Jr. gasped like she’d announced magic. He wouldn't understand, but it was cute.

“Baby, baby, baby” he repeated.

Marcy laughed. "That's right Robbie."

Evi smiled. A real one, this time. It didn’t feel forced. It didn’t feel brittle.

It felt… possible.

Later that night, when Robert Jr. was asleep and Bobby was washing dishes, Evi lingered in the doorway of the kitchen.

“You okay?” Marcy asked gently.

Evi nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

Marcy studied her for a moment, then reached out and squeezed her hand. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

Evi swallowed. “I’m not scared like last time.”

Marcy’s smile was soft. “That’s good.”

It was. It really was.

The pregnancy was easier this time.

Robert Jr. kept Marcy busy and laughing. Bobby was steadier, more confident, like he trusted joy enough now to let it stay. Evi noticed it in the way he whistled while cooking, in the way he talked about the future without lowering his voice afterward, like he was afraid fate might overhear.

Evi helped without hovering. She read Robert Jr. stories, tied his shoes, played fire station in the living room. She let herself enjoy the normalcy of it.

Sometimes, she caught Marcy watching her eyes warm, thoughtful.

“You know,” Marcy said one afternoon as they folded laundry together, “you don’t always have to be the responsible one.”

Evi smiled faintly. “I kind of like being it.”

“I know,” Marcy said. “Just… remember you’re allowed to be a teenager too.”

Evi nodded, though the idea still felt strange.

Brooke was born on a rainy Thursday morning.

The hospital room moved with quiet excitement, Robert Jr. bouncing on his heels while Bobby tried unsuccessfully to keep him still. Evi stood near the door, heart full and calm in a way she’d never expected.

When Bobby emerged from the room, eyes shining, he didn’t even have to speak.

“You have a sister,” he said.

Robert Jr repeated sister over and over. 

Marcy looked exhausted but radiant, cradling a tiny bundle wrapped in pink. When she lifted the baby slightly, Evi’s breath caught.

“She has your eyes,” Marcy said softly.

Evi blinked. “Mine?”

Marcy nodded. “Same color. Same softness.”

Evi stepped closer, awe curling in her chest.

Brooke was tiny and fierce, fists clenched, mouth forming a determined little pout. When Evi held her, Brooke stared up at her with startling intensity, then settled like she’d found exactly where she belonged.

“Hi,” Evi whispered. “I’m your sister.”

Brooke cooed.

Robert Jr. leaned in, whispering loudly, “Sister.”

Evi smiled. “Yeah, Robbie we have a sister.”

Life shifted after that.

Not dramatically. Not painfully. Just… fuller.

Evi learned Brooke’s cries quickly. She could tell when she was hungry, tired, or just needed to be held. Brooke reached for her instinctively, fingers tangling in Evi’s hair like an anchor.

“She adores you,” Marcy said once, watching from the doorway.

Evi smiled down at Brooke. “I adore her too.”

And she did fiercely, completely, without reservation.

Robert Jr. grew into his role as big brother with dramatic seriousness. Obsessed with his baby sister. 

Family routines settled in.

Mornings were loud. Evenings were messy. Weekends were a blur of errands, laughter, and small arguments that never lasted. Bobby worked long shifts, but that was fire fighting. 

Fire drills became games. 

“Okay,” Marcy said one night, clapping her hands. “If the alarm goes off, what do we do?”

“Get low!” Robert Jr. shouted.

“Stay together,” Evi added.

“And find Evi!” Robert Jr. finished proudly.

Marcy laughed, though her eyes lingered on Evi with something thoughtful beneath it, knowing loud noises still triggered her on occasion, but it is alot better now.

One evening, after the kids were asleep, Marcy and Evi sat on the couch in companionable silence.

“You’ve changed,” Marcy said eventually.

Evi frowned. “Is that bad?”

Marcy shook her head. “No. You’re lighter, less triggered.”

Evi considered that. “I feel… happier. And that scares me a little sometimes.”

Marcy nodded. “That okay, happy is something you weren't allowed for a long time.”

“What if it goes away?” Evi whispered.

Marcy reached for her hand. “Then we grieve it, and rebuilt it. But we don’t stop living because something might end. And this family does things together.”

Evi leaned into her shoulder.

That night, she dreamed of the future graduations, birthdays, ordinary days that stretched endlessly ahead.

She woke smiling.

Years passed like that.

Brooke took her first steps holding Evi’s hands. Robert Jr. learned to ride a bike with Evi jogging behind him, heart in her throat. Marcy watched it all with quiet pride, Bobby with a camera he pretended he didn’t care about.

Evi laughed easily now. She argued with Bobby. She teased Marcy. She let herself imagine a life that wasn’t shaped by loss.

One night, as she tucked Brooke in, Brooke reached out sleepily and murmured, “Stay.”

Evi smiled and brushed her hair back gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She believed it.

Completely.

Evi learned that happiness could be quiet. Safe. 

It wasn’t fireworks or shouting or big declarations. It was mornings where no one rushed her. It was the sound of Bobby’s coffee maker sputtering to life before dawn. It was Marcy singing while she braided Brooke’s hair, fingers quick and gentle, like the motion itself was a kind of love.

It was ordinary.

And ordinary was everything.

By the time Brooke turned four and Robert Jr. was five, the house ran on routines.

Saturday mornings were pancakes. Sundays were laundry and cartoons. Weeknights were loud with homework complaints and bath time negotiations. Evi moved through it all like a fixed point present, steady, reliable in a way she’d once thought only adults could be.

She’d stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Mostly.

“Evi!” Robert Jr. called from the backyard one afternoon. “She’s climbing again!”

Evi looked up from the porch just in time to see Brooke halfway up the playset ladder, grinning like she’d discovered rebellion.

“Brooke!” Evi said. “Feet first!”

Brooke giggled, promptly ignored her, and climbed higher.

Bobby leaned against the doorframe beside Evi, arms crossed, smiling despite himself. “You ever notice they only listen to you after you’ve said it three times?”

Evi snorted. “That’s because they know I mean it.”

She stepped into the yard just as Brooke slipped.

Evi moved without thinking.

She caught Brooke easily, heart slamming into her ribs only after the danger passed. Brooke laughed, unbothered.

“Again!” Brooke demanded.

“Nope,” Evi said firmly, setting her down. “That’s enough climbing for today.”

Brooke pouted. Robert Jr. crossed his arms in solidarity.

Bobby watched the whole thing with a strange ache in his chest.

“You okay?” Marcy asked quietly from behind him.

Bobby nodded. “Yeah. Just… proud. We have such amazing kids.”

Marcy smiled.

Marcy and Evi shared quiet moments late at night after the house settled, and Bobby worked.

Sometimes they folded laundry together, sometimes they sat on the couch with a cup of tea for each of them.

“You know,” Marcy said once, watching Evi from the corner of her eye, “you don’t have to stay forever.”

Evi stilled. “I want to.”

“I know,” Marcy said gently. “I just don’t want you to feel like you owe us your life.”

Evi swallowed. “I don’t feel like that.”

Marcy studied her. “Good.”

After a beat, Evi added softly, “I feel like this is my life.”

Marcy’s eyes shone. She didn’t say anything she just leaned over and rested her head against Evi’s shoulder.

The kids adored her.

Robert Jr. followed her like gravity, insisting she be the one to check monsters under the bed, to bandage scraped knees, to explain why the sky was blue and why firefighters ran toward fire instead of away from it.

Brooke wanted to be her.

She copied the way Evi stood, the way she folded her arms, the way she brushed her teeth with exaggerated seriousness. When asked what she wanted to be when she grew up, Brooke answered without hesitation.

“Like Evi.”

Evi laughed it off every time, but it stayed with her.

One night, after Evi tucked Brooke in, Brooke reached out and caught her sleeve.

“Promise you’ll always come get me,” Brooke mumbled sleepily.

Evi brushed her hair back gently. “Always.”

It didn’t feel like a dangerous promise.

It felt like the truth.

There were moments small ones where Evi felt a flicker of unease.

A siren passing too close made her pause. The smell of smoke from a neighbor’s grill made her double check the stove. She tested the smoke detectors once a month, sometimes twice.

Marcy noticed, but didn’t comment.

Instead, she made space.

“Movie night?” she’d ask on those days. Or, “Want to help me bake something?”

Normalcy as balm.

One evening, the family sat around the dinner table, voices overlapping, laughter spilling out easily. Brooke knocked over her milk and burst into giggles instead of tears. Robert Jr. launched into an animated story about school that involved dragons, firefighters, and at least three explosions.

Bobby caught Evi watching them, her expression soft and full.

“You are a great big sister,” he said quietly.

Evi blinked. “What?”

Bobby gestured around the table. “This. You’re good at this.”

Evi felt something warm settle in her chest. “I learned from you.”

Bobby smiled. “We learned together.”

Marcy raised her glass. “To family,” she said simply.

They clinked glasses.

Evi looked around the table at Bobby’s easy smile, at Marcy’s warmth, at Robert Jr.’s enthusiasm, at Brooke’s crooked grin and felt something rare and precious.

Certainty.

This was it.
This was her life.
This was safe.

Later that night, after the house was quiet and the lights were off, Evi laid in bed staring at the ceiling, listening to the familiar sounds of home, the distant tick of the clock, the soft rhythm of down the hall.

She smiled to herself.

For the first time, the future didn’t scare her.

That's when, she decided to travel. She spoke to Marcy and Bobby. Saying she needed to find herself, and wanted to see what's out there. Bobby gave her some cash and brought her and old Jeep. And she was on her way, promising to stay in contact. She was gone for just over a year, when it happened.

Evi almost didn’t hear her phone.

It was buried at the bottom of her backpack, vibrating insistently against a water bottle as she crossed a crowded street in Peru, the noise of the city swallowing everything else. She’d been gone for over a year now hostels, trains, different states, different jobs, she was currently working at a bar in Peru. It was the kind of freedom she’d told herself she needed. A way to find out who she is meant to be.

The phone stopped vibrating.

Then started again.

Evi frowned and stepped out of the flow of people, ducking into a narrow alcove between buildings. She dug the phone out, heart ticking faster as she saw the missed calls.

Dad
Dad
Dad
Unknown number
Dad

Her stomach dropped.

She hit call back before she could think better of it.

It rang once.

Twice.

Bobby’s voice came through strained and distant. “Evi.”

Relief flooded her so hard her knees nearly buckled. “Hey, hey, I’m here. I didn’t hear my phone, I’m...”

“Where are you?” Bobby asked.

There was something wrong. She heard it immediately. Bobby never asked questions like that.

“Peru,” she said. “Dad, what’s...”

“Are you safe?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said quickly. “I’m fine. Why?”

There was a pause. Too long. Too heavy.

“Evi,” Bobby said quietly. “I need you to listen to me.”

Her heart began to race, sharp and sudden. “Dad.”

“There was a fire,” he said.

The words felt unreal, like they belonged to someone else’s life.

“What kind of fire?” Evi asked automatically. “Is everyone okay?”

Silence.

The city seemed to recede around her, noise fading into a dull roar. She pressed her back against the wall, suddenly lightheaded.

“Dad,” she said again, firmer now. “Is everyone okay?”

Bobby exhaled shakily.

“The apartment,” he said. “There was a fire in the building.”

Evi swallowed. “Okay. But you, you got them out, right?”

Her voice shook despite her effort to keep it steady.

“I wasn’t able,” Bobby said.

Something in her chest cracked.

“Where’s Mom?” Evi asked.

Another pause.

Her ears rang.

“Dad,” she whispered. “Where’s Mom?”

Bobby’s voice broke. “Marcy didn’t make it.”

Evi stared at the wall in front of her. The stone blurred, doubled.

“That’s not funny,” she said faintly. “Dad, stop.”

“I’m so sorry,” Bobby whispered.

The world tipped sideways.

“No,” Evi said. “No. You’re wrong.”

“I wish I was,” Bobby said, voice thick with grief.

Evi’s hands began to shake violently. “Where are the kids? Brooke, Robbie?”

The silence this time was unbearable.

“No,” Evi said, breath coming too fast. “No, no...”

“Evi,” Bobby choked. “Robert Jr. and Brooke,”

She dropped the phone.

It clattered to the ground, the sound too loud, too final. Evi slid down the wall until she was sitting on the cold stone, hands over her ears like she could block out the world.

No.

This wasn’t real.

This was a mistake. A misunderstanding. Fires happened, but not like this. Not to them. Not to her family. She lost Maddie to a fire, now Marcy, Brooke and Robbie too. She taught them everything, to prevent this. 

Her phone buzzed on the ground beside her.

She stared at it for a long moment before forcing herself to pick it up again.

“Say it again,” she said hoarsely. “Say you’re wrong.”

Bobby was crying now. She’d never heard that before. Not like this.

“I lost them,” he said. “I lost them all. It was my fault.”

Evi’s chest caved in.

“I should have been there,” she whispered. “I should have been home.”

“Evi, no,” Bobby said desperately. “This isn’t your fault.”

She barely heard him.

Images flashed through her mind unbidden, Brooke’s crooked grin, Robert Jr.’s laughter, Marcy’s gentle hands folding laundry. Fire drills games. Routines. Love. Promises.

Always.

“I taught them what to do,” Evi said, voice breaking. “I taught them...”

“I know,” Bobby said. “I know you did.”

Her legs felt numb. Her hands were ice cold.

“Dad,” she said quietly. “I’m coming home.”

“Yes,” Bobby said immediately. “Please.”

Evi ended the call and sat there for a long time, phone clutched uselessly in her hand.

The city moved around her, alive and indifferent.

Somewhere nearby, a siren wailed.

Evi flinched so hard it hurt.

She didn’t remember packing.

Didn't remember selling her Jeep, a way to get home faster. 

She didn’t remember the taxi ride, or the airport security line, or the way strangers glanced at her with concern as tears slid silently down her face. She moved on autopilot, one foot in front of the other, heart shattered and somehow still beating.

On the plane, she stared out the window as the city lights disappeared beneath the clouds.

Marcy had promised they’d grieve together. But now they couldn't. 

Evi pressed her forehead to the glass and finally let herself cry.

“I wasn’t there,” she whispered into the dark.

The words tasted like ash.

The airport in Minnesota smelled the same.

Too familiar. Too wrong.

Bobby was waiting for her just past the gate, looking smaller than she remembered, shoulders hunched, eyes hollow. Tired, and there was something else, she couldn't name. When he saw her, he broke.

Evi dropped her bag and crossed the distance between them in seconds, wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she could. Bobby clutched her back like he might fall apart if he let go.

“I’m here,” she said into his shoulder. “I’ve got you Dad, we will get through this together.”

He sobbed openly, face pressed into her hair.

“I couldn’t save them,” he said. “I couldn’t...”

Evi held him tighter, heart breaking all over again.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know.”

As they stood there, clinging to each other in the middle of the terminal, Evi felt the truth settle heavy and permanent in her chest.

Everything that had made her brave was gone.

Everything that had made her soft was ash.

She didn’t know how she would survive this.

She only knew she had to.

The apartment smelled wrong. It was destroyed.

Evi noticed it the second the door opened a sharp, acrid tang that clung to the air and sank into her lungs. Smoke, old and stubborn, woven into the walls and the carpet and the furniture like it had decided to live there now.

She froze in the doorway.

Bobby stood beside her, keys dangling uselessly from his hand, shoulders slumped. He looked like he’d already walked through hell and come back hollow.

“It doesn’t usually smell this strong,” he said quietly, like he was apologizing.

Evi swallowed. “It’s okay.”

It wasn’t.

But she stepped inside anyway.

The living room was mostly intact. The couch was still half there. The bookshelf still leaned slightly to the left. Brooke’s toys were piled neatly in a corner where Marcy had always insisted they be put away before bed, but burnt.

Evi’s chest tightened painfully.

“Mom liked things tidy,” she said automatically.

Bobby nodded. “Yeah. She did.”

They stood there for a moment, neither of them moving, like the apartment might collapse if they did.

Evi took a breath and forced herself forward.

The hallway was worse.

The walls were blackened near the ceiling, smoke damage spiderwebbing outward like veins. The air grew heavier with each step, pressing down on her ribs.

Marcy’s room came first.

The doorframe was scorched, the paint blistered and peeling. Inside, the bed was burned, sheets reduced to gray curls of fabric. Evi stopped just inside the doorway, hands curling into fists at her sides.

This was where Marcy slept.

This was where she’d braided Brooke’s hair, where she’d folded laundry and hummed, where she’d whispered reassurances Evi hadn’t known she needed until she had them.

Evi pressed her lips together hard.

“She was probably in bed,” Bobby said hoarsely. “The fire marshal said...”

“I don’t need to know,” Evi interrupted gently.

Bobby fell silent.

They moved on.

Robert Jr.’s room was smaller. Brighter, once. Now the walls were streaked with soot, the posters on the wall warped and blackened. His bed frame was visible beneath the damage, but the mattress was gone.

Evi’s breath hitched.

She stepped closer and crouched slowly, like she was afraid of startling something.

There, near the doorway, sat a single sneaker. Red, with the laces still tied.

Robert Jr.’s.

Her hands shook as she picked it up. It felt heavier than it should have, like it was weighted with everything she hadn’t said.

“I taught him to tie his shoes,” she whispered.

Bobby sank down beside her, head in his hands. “I should’ve been there.”

Evi swallowed hard and tucked the shoe against her chest.

“You loved them,” she said. “That matters.”

She wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince.

Brooke’s room was last.

Evi didn’t want to go in.

She stood in the hallway for a long moment, staring at the door, heart pounding in her ears. Bobby waited behind her, silent, giving her space.

When she finally pushed the door open, something inside her cracked cleanly in two.

The bed was still there.

The sheets were burned away, the wooden rails scorched and splintered. A small stuffed rabbit lay on the floor nearby, singed along one ear.

Evi dropped to her knees without realizing she was moving.

“I promised,” she whispered. “I promised I’d always come get you.”

The words echoed uselessly off the walls.

She pressed her forehead to the floor, breath coming in shallow gasps. For a moment, just a moment she thought she might break completely.

But then she heard Bobby behind her.

A broken sound, halfway between a sob and a prayer.

Evi pushed herself up.

She picked up the stuffed rabbit carefully, brushing ash from its fur. Then she turned and wrapped her arms around Bobby, holding him upright when his knees threatened to give out.

“I’ve got you,” she murmured, the words automatic now. “I’m here.”

Bobby clung to her, shaking.

She didn’t cry.

The days blurred together after that.

There were forms to fill out. People to call. Decisions to make that felt impossible and necessary all at once. Evi handled them with quiet efficiency, voice steady, hands sure.

Funeral arrangements.
Insurance paperwork.

She answered questions without thinking. She nodded at condolences. She accepted casseroles she never ate.

But she couldn't stop worrying about her dad, something was off. He wasn't okay. 

At night, she lay awake listening to Bobby pace the new apartment, the soft creak of floorboards marking his restless path from room to room.

Sometimes, she followed him.

They sat together in silence, the TV flickering uselessly in the background, neither of them really seeing it.

“You should sleep,” Bobby said once.

“So should you,” Evi replied.

Neither of them did.

The funeral was small.

Closed caskets. The bodies weren't pleasant to see. 

Evi stood between Bobby and an empty space that felt far too wide, hands clasped tightly in front of her. She stared straight ahead while words washed over her beloved, devoted, taken too soon.

She didn’t cry.

Not when Marcy’s name was spoken.
Not when Robert Jr. and Brooke were mentioned together.
Not when people hugged her and told her how strong she was.

Strength felt like a lie she didn’t have the energy to correct.

At the end, when the room finally emptied, Evi stayed behind.

She approached the caskets slowly, one by one.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wasn’t there.”

Her voice didn’t shake.

She turned away before the tears could come.

That night, alone in her bedroom, Evi finally broke.

She sat on the floor with Brooke’s stuffed rabbit in her lap, fingers curled tightly around its singed ear. The silence pressed in on her from all sides, heavy and merciless.

“I tried,” she whispered to the empty room. “I did everything right.”

Her breath hitched.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair that fire drills and smoke alarms and promises hadn’t been enough. It wasn’t fair that she’d been learning who she was while the people she loved most in this world were dying without her.

That she lost a mother, and now three siblings to a fire. 

She pressed her fist to her mouth to muffle the sound of her sobs.

In the next room, Bobby slept restlessly, exhaustion finally dragging him under.

Evi wiped her tears quickly.

Someone had to stay standing.

Someone had to survive this.

She curled up on the floor, clutching the rabbit to her chest, and stared into the dark.

Fire had taken everything that made her feel safe.

She didn’t know yet, what it would turn her into.

Evi learned how to read the sound of bottles long before Bobby ever admitted there was a problem.

She started seeing things, the soft clink of glass against the counter, the pause before the cabinet door closed, the way Bobby’s shoulders sagged just a little more each day. He didn’t come home drunk. Not at first. He came home tired, hollow, carrying grief like it weighed more than his body could support.

Evi watched. Always.

She’d been watching adults her whole life. This was familiar territory.

The apartment felt smaller, crowded with ghosts. Marcy’s cardigan that always made Evi feel safe hung on the back of the bedroom door, untouched now. Evi had taken it with her while she travelled, a safety blanket. Now it was one of the only things left of her. 

Bobby avoided it.

Evi didn’t, breathing in the fading scent of laundry soap and something distinctly Marcy whenever she needed comfort or her presence.

She handled the mail.
The bills.
The phone calls.

She made dinners Bobby barely touched.

“You don’t have to do all this,” Bobby said one night, voice rough.

Evi didn’t look up from the sink. “I know.”

She did it anyway.

The drinking escalated more. Part of Evi wonder if he had been drinking before the fire, comments made by her dad, or something that made her think. 

Bobby stopped talking about them altogether. Stopped pretending he was fine. He drank in the evenings, then earlier, then sometimes before noon. He never raised his voice. Never lashed out.

He just… disappeared.

Evi found him one afternoon sitting on the bathroom floor, head in his hands, bottle rolling uselessly away when she pushed it aside.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

Evi sat down beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” she said gently. “You’re hurting.”

Bobby laughed bitterly. “I was drinking, and doing pills since my injury on my back.” He avoided Evi's eyes.

"What? Dad?" Evi's voice broke.

"I was drunk that night. Fell asleep in a different empty apartment, left the heater on. Should have been safe, but the building was out of code and it spread fast, its my fault. You should hate me." Bobby said tears spilling. 

"Dad, the drinking and pills was wrong, but you couldn't have known the heater would trigger a fire. The building was shot, that's their fault, not yours. You can't blame yourself, but you need help." Evi said crying. 

He looked at her then, really looked, and something like shame crossed his face.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this, with me.” he said.

Evi swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t have to deal with it alone. Your my dad.”

At night, the guilt crept in.

Evi replayed everything, every fire drill, every safety lecture, every promise she’d made. She catalogued her failures obsessively, like maybe if she named them all, the pain would make sense.

She should have come home sooner.
She should have checked in more.
She should have known something was wrong.
She should of recognised her dad was struggling. 

The worst thought of all whispered late at night, cruel and persistent, If you’d been there, this wouldn’t have happened.

Evi pressed her hands over her ears, squeezing her eyes shut like she could block it out.

But the thought stayed.

Bobby stopped going to work.

At first, it was a sick day. Then another. Then he simply… didn’t go back.

Evi noticed the empty uniform hanging in the closet, untouched. She noticed the way Bobby flinched at sirens now, how he avoided windows and mirrors and anything that reflected too much of the past.

One evening, she found him staring at the kitchen wall, eyes unfocused.

“I failed them,” he said suddenly.

Evi’s heart clenched. “Dad,”

“I failed you,” he continued. “I was supposed to protect you and them. I was supposed to keep everyone safe.”

Evi stepped in front of him, forcing him to look at her.

“You didn’t fail me,” she said firmly. “You loved us. You still love me. You will always love them. That counts.”

Bobby’s eyes filled. “It doesn’t bring them back.”

“No,” Evi said softly. “But we are still here, together.”

The breaking point came quietly.

Evi came home early one afternoon and found the apartment door unlocked. Inside, the smell of alcohol hit her immediately.

Bobby sat at the table, bottle half empty, eyes red rimmed and unfocused.

“You’re drinking again,” Evi said.

Bobby didn’t look up. “I never stopped.”

Something inside Evi snapped.

She took the bottle from his hand and set it down hard on the counter.

“This is going to kill you,” she said, voice shaking despite herself.

Bobby laughed humorlessly. “That’s kind of the point.”

Evi’s breath hitched.

“No,” she said fiercely. “I won’t lose you too.”

Bobby looked at her then, really looked and whatever he saw there finally broke through.

“I don’t know how to live with this,” he whispered.

Evi’s voice softened. “Then let me help you.”

She crouched in front of him, hands gripping his knees like an anchor.

“Please,” she said. “Choose to stay. I have lost everyone, I can't lose you too. Dad please. ”

The silence stretched.

Bobby’s shoulders shook.

“I’m scared, to go on without them.” he admitted.

“So am I,” Evi said. “But we have to, for them.”

Rehab came a week later.

Evi drove him herself, hands steady on the wheel, heart pounding in her chest. Bobby sat quietly in the passenger seat, staring out the window.

“I don’t deserve you,” he said suddenly.

Evi shook her head. “You don’t get to decide that.”

At the facility, Bobby hesitated at the door.

Evi squeezed his hand. “I’m here when you’re ready.”

He nodded and stepped inside.

Evi stayed in the parking lot long after the doors closed.

For the first time since the fire, she let herself cry openly.

The weeks that followed were slow and heavy.

Evi visited when she could, sat across from Bobby in rooms, listening more than she spoke. She didn’t lecture. She didn’t scold.

She just stayed.

One day, Bobby looked at her with clear eyes and said, “I want to live.”

Evi exhaled shakily. “Good.”

“For you,” he added.

Evi shook her head gently. “For you.”

He smiled faintly. “Both.”

When Bobby came home, sober and fragile and trying, Evi made a decision.

She wouldn’t leave.

Not yet.

She cooked real meals again. She watched Bobby like a hawk but tried not to smother him.

She carried their grief quietly, like something precious and terrible.

Late one night, sitting alone in the living room.

“I wasn’t there,” she whispered.

The words still hurt.

But they didn’t paralyze her anymore.

She would live with them.

She would build something new.

She would survive.

For them. For her mom and siblings. 

Recovery was not a straight line.

Evi learned that early, watching Bobby relearn how to exist in the quiet spaces between grief and sobriety. Some days were steady coffee in the morning, meetings in the afternoon, dinner together at night. Other days were fragile, held together by routine and willpower and the unspoken agreement that neither of them would discuss it tonight.

But Bobby stayed sober.

That mattered.

They talked more than they used to. Not always about the fire. Not always about Marcy, Robert Jr., or Brooke. Sometimes they talked about nothing at all about the weather, about old calls Bobby remembered, about places Evi had seen while traveling.

Sometimes, late at night, Bobby talked about the things he carried.

“I keep thinking if I replay it enough,” he admitted once, staring into his mug, “I’ll find the moment I could have changed it.”

Evi leaned back in her chair. “I tried that too.”

Bobby looked at her.

“It doesn’t work,” she said quietly.

Bobby nodded slowly, like that truth hurt but helped at the same time.

The idea of leaving Minnesota came quietly.

Not as an escape. Not as a desperate need to run. Just… as a possibility.

Bobby came home one afternoon with a folded piece of paper in his hand and an expression Evi hadn’t seen in a long time thoughtful, cautious, almost hopeful.

“I got a call,” he said.

Evi set aside the laundry she was folding. “About what?”

“There’s an opening in Los Angeles,” Bobby said. “Captain position. Station 118.”

Evi blinked. “That’s… big.”

“I know,” Bobby said quickly. “And I’m not saying yes. Not yet. I just,” He stopped, exhaled. “I wanted you to know, talk about it.”

Evi sat with it for a moment.

LA meant sun and distance and sirens that didn’t echo through memories the same way. It meant starting over somewhere no one knew their loss.

It also meant risk.

“What do you want?” Evi asked.

Bobby hesitated. “I want to keep moving forward.”

Evi nodded slowly. “Then maybe this is how.”

They didn’t decide right away.

They talked it through over days, then weeks. They visited Marcy’s grave together and stood in silence, hands brushing but not quite touching.

“I don’t think she’d want us to stay stuck like this,” Evi said softly.

Bobby swallowed. “No. She wouldn’t.”

They moved to Los Angeles in the spring.

The apartment was small two bedrooms, cramped kitchen, thin walls but it felt intentional. Temporary in the best way. A place to land, not to mourn.

Evi unpacked carefully, choosing what came with them and what stayed behind. Brooke’s stuffed rabbit came. Robert Jr.’s one red sneaker. Marcy’s cardigan. Small memories, safety blankets. 

Bobby started at the 118.

Evi watched him come home tired but alive, talking about Hen and Chimney with the cautious curiosity of someone relearning how to belong. He spoke about a Sal, that he reassigned and a Tommy that he wanted to also move along. But Hen and Chimney seemed decent.

“They’re good people,” Bobby said one night. “Kind. Capable.”

“That helps,” Evi said.

She took a job at a bakery down the street, a place that smelled like sugar and yeast and warmth. She learned names, learned schedules, learned that she loved to bake, learned how to smile without forcing it.

Life… settled.

Not healed.

But stable.

The thought came to her slowly.

It started as a tug in her chest every time she heard a siren. A curiosity when Bobby talked about work. A familiarity when she passed firehouses and felt something like recognition stir under her ribs.

One night, she said it out loud before she could talk herself out of it.

“I’ve been thinking about the fire academy.”

Bobby froze.

He set his fork down carefully. “No.”

The word was immediate. Instinctive.

Evi didn’t flinch. “I know it scares you.”

“It’s dangerous, I know.” Bobby said tightly. “I can’t...Evi, I can’t lose you too.”

Evi leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I don’t want to die. I want to live. I want to do something that matters, do something worth it, like you do.”

Bobby looked away, jaw clenched.

“I already lost everyone, but you. I can't lose you too.” he said hoarsely.

“So did I, everyone I ever loved died in a fire. But you.” Evi replied gently. “That’s why I can’t stay on the sidelines anymore. I don't want people to experience what we have.”

The argument stretched late into the night. Voices rose, then softened. Tears were shed Bobby’s and Evi’s alike.

In the end, Bobby exhaled slowly and nodded.

“I hate this,” he said.

“I know,” Evi whispered.

“But I won’t stop you,” he finished. “I won’t be the thing that stops you.”

Evi reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Dad.”

The academy was brutal.

She used the named Evi Buckley, not wanting people to treat her differently, being her dad is a fire captain. 

Early mornings. Late nights. Endless drills that left her sore and exhausted and more alive than she’d felt in years. Evi threw herself into it completely studying, training, pushing her body until it screamed and then pushing a little more.

She worked at the bakery part time, coming home dusted in flour and sweat, collapsing into bed with aching muscles and a steady heart.

She excelled.

Top of her class.

Bobby watched from the sidelines, pride and terror warring behind his eyes.

On graduation day, he stood in uniform, hands clasped tightly in front of him as Evi crossed the stage.

She found him immediately in the crowd.

He was crying openly.

She smiled like she’d never smiled before.

The placement came a week later.

Station 118.

Evi laughed when she read it, breathless and disbelieving.

“You did this,” Evi accused lightly.

Bobby laughed. “I spoke to the chief, he understood I wanted you in my station.”

Evi smiled. “Thanks dad, I was hoping I would be placed with you.”

The hugged each other tightly, holding on just a little longer.

On her first day, Evi stood outside the station, duffle over her shoulder. The building was familiar and new all at once.

Bobby paused beside her.

“You are going to listen to me on calls,” he said quietly. “I need you to always come home.”

Evi nodded. “I will. Promise.”

She took a breath and stepped inside.

“Buckley,” someone called. 

Evi grinned.

“Buck,” she corrected, voice steady and sure.

The guy smiled, an Asian guy chewing gum "Chimney. This is Hen." The girl had glasses and a shaved head, both kind smiles like her dad had mentioned. 

As she walked further into the station, into noise and a future she hadn’t known she was brave enough to claim, something settled deep in her bones.

Evi Buckley Nash had survived her life so far. 

But now? Buck had arrived.