The first thing I noticed when we stepped into our new apartment was the quiet.

Not the tense, suffocating quiet I grew up with.

Not the silent treatment Carl used as punishment.

Not the eerie stillness of a house that never felt like mine.

This quiet was soft.

Warm.

Healing.

It smelled like fresh paint and hope.

Damon dropped our last box on the floor and stretched his back with a groan.

I laughed, shaking my head. “You carried two boxes. Two.”

He shot me a glare he ...