Chapter 1 Homecoming

The plane landed with a soft thud that jolted Monique's spine just enough to remind her she hadn't slept well. Cherry stirred in her lap but didn't wake, her head pressed firmly into Monique's chest, cheeks sticky with apple juice from the small carton the flight attendant had offered hours earlier. Outside the tiny oval window, the world looked small, grey, and soaked in mist.

Monique sighed and adjusted the pink blanket wrapped around Cherry's legs.

"Come on, sweetheart," she whispered as the seatbelt sign chimed off. "We're here."

Cherry mumbled in that toddler babble that made no sense but still managed to break Monique's heart a little. Her tiny hand found Monique's collarbone, as if anchoring herself.

"Let's go," Monique said softly, standing with the stiff awkwardness of someone who had been holding thirty pounds of sleeping child for too long. She thanked the man beside her, who barely glanced up from his phone, and shuffled forward in the sluggish line of passengers.

The airport was small, smaller than she remembered. She had left in a blur two years ago, just before dawn, with nothing but a duffel bag and a fractured soul. Now she returned with a child, a stroller, and just enough courage to pretend she was okay.

She didn't feel okay.

"Alright, baby girl," she said once they reached baggage claim. She set Cherry gently into her stroller and buckled her in. Cherry blinked sleepily, cheeks puffed, curls sticking to her forehead.

"You want your bunny?" Monique asked, pulling the raggedy plush from her tote.

Cherry nodded, eyes still heavy, and clutched it with a sleepy "Mmhm."

Monique smiled. "Atta girl."

The suitcase circled the carousel twice before she spotted it, old, scuffed at the corners, with a faded purple ribbon she had tied to the handle. As she grabbed it, someone bumped into her from behind. Not hard. Just enough to make her instinctively pull Cherry's stroller close.

"Sorry," a warm voice said. A man's voice. "Didn't see you there."

Monique turned, ready to wave it off, when her gaze met a pair of eyes, kind, curious, and just surprised enough to make her pause.

"It's okay," she said, tugging her suitcase upright. She offered a polite half-smile and pushed Cherry's stroller toward the exit.

"Wait," the man said, jogging a couple steps to catch up. "You need help?"

Monique blinked. "Help?"

"Yeah. That bag looks heavy, and you've got your hands full."

"I'm fine," she said, a bit too quickly. Then, softer, "Thank you, though."

He hesitated, then smiled. "Alright. Didn't mean to overstep."

Monique nodded and kept walking. But he didn't leave. Instead, he walked beside her, hands in the pockets of a brown jacket. Something about him, his ease, his presence, was disarming. Not threatening. Just... unexpected.

"You're not from around here, are you?" he asked.

She tilted her head. "I am."

"Really? You don't look familiar."

Monique shrugged. "Been gone for a while."

He smiled again. "Me too. Nick, by the way."

"Monique."

"Nice to meet you, Monique. And you," he added, peeking at Cherry. "What's her name?"

"Cherry."

"That's sweet."

"She's sweeter."

They reached the taxi stand. Monique checked the time. 9:42 a.m. It was still early, but the sky looked like it wanted to pour.

"Well," she said, "this is me."

Nick nodded. "Alright. It was nice bumping into you. Literally."

That coaxed a chuckle out of her. "Same."

He lingered a second longer than he needed to. "Hey, if you're ever in town and want good coffee, there's this place on Hartwell called June's. Best muffins you'll ever have."

Monique raised an eyebrow. "Are you recommending muffins or asking me out?"

Nick laughed. "Little of both. No pressure."

She didn't answer right away. But then she offered something almost like a smile.

"I'll think about it."

The cab pulled up. She loaded Cherry in, then the stroller and bag, her body moving automatically, like muscle memory. Nick stood on the curb, hands still in his pockets, watching. When the cab pulled away, he gave a small wave.

Monique didn't wave back, but she watched him in the side mirror until he disappeared.

The cab ride was quiet, except for the sound of Cherry humming to herself.

"You like that man?" Cherry asked suddenly.

Monique blinked. "What?"

"The man. At the place. With teeth."

Monique bit back a laugh. "You mean Nick?"

Cherry nodded.

"I don't know, baby. I just met him."

"But he smiled," Cherry said simply, as if that proved something.

"People can smile and still be..." Monique trailed off. She didn't want to finish the sentence.

Cherry went back to humming.

The streets rolled past like old songs she didn't want to hear. Familiar corners. Empty porches. The shuttered bakery that used to give her free cookies when she was little. Her chest felt tight. Not from the memory, but from the feeling of stepping into a life she no longer trusted.

They arrived at the duplex, still pale blue, still chipped around the edges. Her old neighbor's car was in the driveway next door. The same ceramic gnome stood under the hydrangea bush. Nothing had changed. And that made everything harder.

The landlady had left the key under the mat, just like she said. The lock stuck a little but finally gave way with a tired click.

Inside, the air smelled of dust and time. Monique opened the windows, hoping to chase the silence out.

"I want juice," Cherry declared.

"Let me find the fridge first," Monique said, setting the suitcase by the couch. She carried Cherry into the kitchen, which was still small and yellow, with floral curtains that felt like they belonged to someone else's childhood.

There was no juice yet, just a jug of water Monique had brought from the airport.

Cherry made a face. "That's not juice."

"No, it's better. It's cold magic water," Monique said, trying to make her daughter smile.

Cherry sipped it skeptically, then giggled.

They spent the afternoon settling in. Monique dusted, unpacked, and made a mental list of things she needed to buy: diapers, bread, something Cherry would eat besides crackers and grapes. She plugged in her phone and scanned for messages. None.

By the time evening came, she was bone tired but oddly light. Cherry was curled up on the couch, bunny in one arm, a picture book in the other.

Monique sat beside her, brushing stray curls from her forehead. "We made it," she whispered.

Cherry's eyes fluttered open. "Where?"

"Home. It feels good to be home."

Cherry frowned. "But you said home was... gone."

Monique hesitated. "I did. But maybe home's something you carry with you."

"Like juice?"

Monique smiled. "Yeah. Like juice."

They both laughed softly. Monique tucked a blanket around them and leaned her head back.

A moment of peace.

A knock shattered it.

Hard. Unrelenting. Not friendly.

Cherry sat up. "Who's that?"

Monique froze.

Another knock. Louder.

"Open up!" a deep voice shouted.

Monique's heart slammed into her ribs.

"Police!"

Cherry whimpered.

Monique stood, legs shaking.

The voice again, more urgent: "Monique Taylor! You're under arrest!"

The world tilted. The air felt ripped out of the room.

Another knock. Fist this time. Not patient.

Monique looked at Cherry. Her daughter's eyes were wide and scared. "Stay here," she whispered.

Her feet moved on instinct. Toward the door. Away from safety.

She cracked the door open an inch, and saw him.

Officer Harris.

The man she hadn't seen in two years.

The man who had once sworn he loved her.

And he was glaring at her like she was a stranger.

"Monique Taylor," he said coldly, "you're under arrest for the murder of Juliette Morris. Step outside."

The floor disappeared beneath her.

Cherry cried out behind her.

And Monique whispered to no one in particular, "Oh God... not again."