Just in it.
The nine-year-old who had drawn houses on fogged car windows had wanted something specific. She had wanted to make places that felt like they had been thought about by someone who cared what it felt like to be inside them. She had wanted to make the place she needed.
She had done it.
That was true regardless of who came to see it.
That was true tonight, with the mountains in the moonlight and Megan in the kitchen and the fire going low and the party over and the message sent and the response not yet arrived.
It was true.
It had always been true.
Even when nobody was watching.
Especially then.
