Zane had never liked birthdays.
Not because they reminded him of time passing, but because they carried expectations he had never learned how to hold. As a child, they were marked politely and without excess. As an adult, they became acknowledgments made out of habit rather than meaning. He learned to accept them with composure and move on.
This year was different.
He felt it the moment they turned onto his mother's street.
The house stood quietly at the end of the block, lights warm behind the windows, the porch glowing softly against the winter dark. It did not announce itself or perform welcome. It never had. It existed as a constant rather than a destination, unchanged in a way that felt intentional rather than stagnant.
Willow reached over and took his hand as he parked.
"You okay?" she asked, gently but directly.
He glanced at her, surprised by the question, then nodded. "Yes."
