Dylan came home early on a Wednesday.
Ellie heard the door close before noon—too early for lunch, too late to have forgotten something. She glanced up from the dining table, where she'd been sorting her chemistry notes beside a half-empty coffee mug and a banana she had no intention of eating.
He looked… off.
His hands were dirty, as usual, but his shoulders were tense, and his jaw was tight in that way that meant something had gone wrong. He kissed her on the top of the head without saying anything and sat down on the couch like someone had knocked the wind out of him.
She gave him a second, then crossed the room, sliding beside him, curling her legs under her.
"What happened?" she asked softly.
Dylan stared ahead for a long moment. Then he sighed and said, "Laid off."
Her stomach dropped. "What? Why?"
"Owner said the rest of the foundation work is delayed until spring. Budget cuts. No one's building in this economy right now, not up here. Said they'd call me back when something opens up, but you and I both know that's just a nice way of saying good luck, kid."
Ellie exhaled slowly. "Okay. Okay. That sucks. But we'll figure it out. I can pick up more shifts—"
"There's more," he said, rubbing his hands over his face. "My dad called. He's got a crew heading out next week—long-haul work. They're doing a few big commercial sites down south. He offered me a spot. Said it's two, maybe three months. Good pay. Steady."
Ellie blinked. "So… you'd be traveling? Like, gone?"
Dylan nodded. "Gone. On the road. Motel rooms. Early mornings. All of it."
The room felt too quiet. The coffee mug on the table had stopped steaming. Ellie reached for the throw blanket and pulled it over her lap, like it might keep her from slipping into some emotional freefall.
"What about me?" she said.
"I thought about that," he said quickly. "And I talked to Anna. She said if you're okay with it… you could stay. Here. While I'm gone."
"With your mom. Your sister. The four children under seven."
He winced. "I know. I know it's not ideal. But it's rent-free. And they love you, El. You're already here."
She didn't say anything for a while. Just sat there, chewing on the inside of her cheek, trying to keep the old fear from rising.
Because deep down, she was still that girl who had left home at seventeen, half-convinced someone would show up with paperwork to drag her back. She was still trying to prove she could survive without cracking.
And now, Dylan—her only anchor in all of this—was preparing to leave.
"I don't want you to go," she whispered.
He turned to her, eyes soft. "I don't want to leave. But I can't sit around broke, Ellie. Not when there's work out there."
She nodded slowly. "I get it."
They were quiet for a long time, their fingers intertwined between them on the couch. The hum of a cartoon from the living room echoed faintly through the house. A child squealed. A door slammed.
"I'm scared," Ellie admitted, her voice barely audible.
Dylan kissed her forehead. "Me too. But we've done hard things before. We'll do this too."
The week before he left was a blur of preparation.
Dylan gathered tools, packed a duffel bag, tuned up the old Jeep, and kept checking the job itinerary like he could memorize every city they'd pass through. Ellie picked up three extra closing shifts at the diner and let her schoolwork pile up.
The air between them turned urgent—each glance held something heavier, every kiss lingered a second longer than necessary. One night, after Melanie took the kids to a sleepover and Anna went to visit a friend, they had the house to themselves for the first time in weeks.
They didn't waste it.
They ordered cheap Chinese food, spread it out on the living room floor, and talked about everything but what was coming. Then they lay in bed tangled up together, skin on skin, hearts pressed close like they were trying to memorize the shape of goodbye.
Afterward, Ellie rested her head on Dylan's chest, her fingers tracing lazy patterns across his ribs.
"I know this is the smart choice," she whispered. "But I hate it."
"I hate it too," he said. "But I promise—I'll call every night. And I'll send you pictures of every gas station burrito I regret eating."
She laughed, even as tears slid down her cheeks.
When the day came, she helped load the last of his gear into the Jeep, the morning chill biting at her bare arms. Dylan kissed her one last time on the front porch, his forehead resting against hers.
"Two months," he whispered. "Maybe three. Then I'm home."
"Don't get hurt."
"I won't. You?"
"I'll survive."
"You better do more than survive, El. You fly now, remember?"
She smiled through her tears. "Then I'll fly loudly."
And then he was gone, the sound of the engine fading into the distance, leaving behind the ache of absence and the weight of something she didn't yet know how to carry.
The first week was the hardest.
Mornings were chaos. The baby always cried first, followed by a chorus of "I don't want to wear that!" and "He hit me!" Ellie tried to help, packing school lunches, pouring cereal, checking homework, folding laundry. It was more than a full-time job before she even made it to school herself.
At night, she'd lie in bed in the room they used to share—now just hers—and stare at the ceiling, listening to the house breathe. It wasn't her home, no matter how long she stayed. The walls were too thin. The voices too loud. Her memories didn't live here—they were just visiting.
Dylan kept his promise. He called every night, usually around ten, his voice rough with exhaustion but still steady.
"I laid brick for nine hours today," he'd say. "But I thought about you for all of them."
She'd tell him about her classes, about practice, about the baby dropping a full plate of spaghetti on the dog.
It helped. But it didn't fix the hollow space in her chest.
One evening, she found herself on the porch, wrapped in a hoodie two sizes too big, sketchpad in her lap, watching the sun slip behind the pines. Melanie stepped out with a mug of tea and sat beside her.
"Dylan's got your heart, huh?" Melanie asked after a long pause.
Ellie nodded slowly. "Yeah. He does."
"You've got his, too."
Ellie blinked. "You sure?"
Melanie smiled. "He'd never leave you behind if he didn't believe you could handle it. That boy trusts you with his whole life."
"I'm just scared I'll mess it up."
"You won't. You've already been through the fire, honey. Now you're just learning how to walk through smoke."
Ellie swallowed hard. "I don't feel strong."
"But you are," Melanie said. "Even when you're tired. Even when you're afraid. That's what makes it real."
Ellie went to bed that night with those words echoing in her mind. She wasn't alone. Not really. Not even in a house full of people she didn't choose.
Dylan was chasing something better. And she—left behind for now—was holding down the home they were building one brick at a time.
Because that's what love was.
Not just showing up.
But staying steady when someone else has to go