-Camille Hart:
The warm glow of the late afternoon sun stretched across the familiar path leading up to my childhood home. Every step I took felt heavy with a mixture of nostalgia and something I hadn't realized I'd been missing so much—the simple comfort of being home. It wasn't just the house itself—the aged wood, the peeling paint, the garden Mom had tended so carefully—it was the life inside it. The laughter and voices, the little quirks of family that only you can understand.
I checked my phone again as I neared the front door. Mom's last message: "Camille, we miss you terribly. It's been too long. Dinner tonight? Your father's cooking something special." I had said yes earlier, but now standing here, I was glad I did.
The door opened before I even knocked, and there she was—Mom—her face lighting up like she'd just seen a miracle. "Camille!" she said, sweeping me into a warm embrace. The scent of lavender lingered around her, and for a moment I felt like a little girl again, safe and small.
"I missed you," I whispered into her shoulder.
"And we've all been missing you." Her voice was thick with affection. "Your father keeps asking when you'll come by, and Dean is just about ready to kidnap you himself."
We stepped inside, the familiar hum of the house wrapping around me like a quilt. Dad was in his study, the faint sound of the evening news in the background, and somewhere down the hall I heard Lila's light footsteps and laughter.
"I'm so glad you came," Mom said, her hand lingering on my back as she guided me towards the dining room. "It hasn't been the same without your bright energy."
The table was laid out meticulously—Mom's signature floral china, shining cutlery, and a centerpiece of fresh peonies that still smelled faintly sweet despite the passing hours.
Dad looked up from his paper as we entered and smiled. "There she is," he said simply. "Welcome home, Camille."
Dean was already there, his easy smile lighting up his polished face as he stood to greet me. "Hey, sis. Good to have you here."
"Good to see you too," I said, squeezing his hand. He was the golden child, the charming one—always so sure of himself, but genuine beneath the polish.
Lila came in last, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her face breaking into a grin when she spotted me. "Camille! You brought the city with you, huh?" she teased, pulling me into a quick hug.
I laughed. "More like the city's exhaustion."
We all settled around the table, the clatter of dishes and hum of conversation filling the room. Mom served up steaming bowls of her homemade stew and fresh bread while Dad poured glasses of wine for everyone except me.
"So," Dad said, breaking the comfortable silence, "how's work treating you, Camille? Still running the show?"
"Busy," I said, smiling wryly. "But I love it. You know how it is—never really a dull moment."
Dean nodded. "I've seen the way you handle things. You've got fire."
"Maybe too much fire," I joked.
Lila leaned forward, a twinkle in her eye. "I swear, one day you'll set the whole company on fire."
We all laughed. It felt good to be here, sharing stories that had nothing to do with deadlines or meetings.
"So, Lila," I said, turning to my sister, "how's university? Still buried in textbooks?"
She rolled her eyes playfully. "Always. But I'm getting there. I actually started a new study group last week. It's been helpful—having people to complain to."
Dean grinned. "Sounds like you found the right kind of company."
Lila shrugged. "Yeah, though some of them are a bit dramatic."
"Oh?" I prompted, genuinely curious.
"Well, one of my friends, Nadine…" Lila hesitated a little, her tone softening. "She's pregnant."
I blinked, surprised. "Pregnant?"
"Yeah. It caught her off guard, too," Lila said, stirring her stew absentmindedly. "Her boyfriend has been deployed for the last few months—military stuff—and now she's alone, basically."
"That's a tough spot," Dean murmured, his eyes thoughtful.
Lila nodded. "She's scared. I mean, who wouldn't be? A baby on the way, no partner around to lean on, and all these responsibilities."
I frowned slightly, imagining the loneliness that must surround someone like that. "Does she have family nearby?"
"A little," Lila replied. "But not the kind that can help out much. She's pretty much on her own."
Dean cleared his throat. "You know," he said slowly, "there's someone at my restaurant who's kind of in a similar situation."
I looked up, intrigued.
"There's a woman—Layla," Dean continued. "She's a single mom, working there every day, cleaning and doing whatever needs doing. But on top of that, she's going to school at night, studying hard. She's got this little girl, too, whom she brings along sometimes. She has never mentioned anything about a family or a partner and she is always alone."
I raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like she's got her hands full."
Dean smiled, admiration clear in his voice. "Absolutely. And she never complains. She just gets on with it. She's one of the most dedicated, loyal people I've ever met."
I considered that for a moment. "That's rare."
"Exactly," Dean said. "And you know what? She's struggling with some hospital debt from when she had her baby. I was thinking… well, if you ever need a personal assistant or someone reliable around the company, maybe you could think about giving her a chance."
I shook my head lightly, smiling. "Dean, I run a business, not a women's charity."
He laughed, holding up his hands. "I know that. I'm not asking for charity. Just saying—she's hardworking and loyal, the kind of person who could really help you. Plus, it would mean a lot to her and honestly, I don't think you can find someone as loyal and serious at work as she is."
I smiled, appreciating his earnestness. "Thanks for telling me. I'll think about it."
Dean nodded, the conversation moving on naturally as the family talked on, but inside me, a new thought had quietly taken root.