He laughed awkwardly. She winked.

The bus wheezed to a halt under the flickering neon sign that read “Welcome to Sulbas – Population: 2,341.” Leo stepped off, the salt-laden wind instantly tangling his hair. He hadn’t been back in six years.

The next morning, a knock came at 7 AM. He opened the door to a woman in a crisp nurse’s uniform, holding a casserole dish.

His childhood home—a two-story weathered blue house—stood at the end of Magnolia Lane. The key still stuck in the lock. Inside, dust sheets covered the furniture. His mother’s note on the fridge read simply: “Gone to Aunt’s. Make yourself useful.”

“You must be the prodigal son,” she said. “I’m Nina. I live two doors down. Your mom asked me to check on you.”

That afternoon, he found himself at the old pier, skipping stones. A shadow fell over him. Chris—his best friend from high school—stood there, arms crossed. Chris hadn’t aged well. Tension lined his jaw.

“You gave me this,” she said quietly. “Not on purpose. We were kids, playing in the wrecked boat behind the old Sulba house. You pushed me. I fell on glass.”