That this was permanent.
But I had a feeling Jace had already heard too many promises from adults.
Words weren’t what he needed.
So instead, I nodded toward the hallway.
“You know the dresser in your bedroom?”
He looked confused.
“Yeah.”
“I bought it because someone lives in that room.”
He said nothing.
“The closet too.”
His mouth tightened.
I continued carefully.
“But I understand now. You don’t have to unpack because I tell you to. Whenever you’re ready, you can use them.”
Jace didn’t answer.
The next morning, his bags were still packed.
They were still packed the day after that.
And the day after that.
I forced myself to stop checking.
If unpacking was going to mean something, it had to happen because Jace decided it meant something.
Not because we pressured him.
About a week later, I walked past his bedroom.
Then I stopped.
The duffel bags were empty.
One had been folded and placed inside the closet.
His books were lined up on the shelf.
His shoes were scattered beneath the bed.
A hoodie hung crookedly from the back of his chair.
To anyone else, it probably would have looked like an ordinary messy teenager’s bedroom.
To me, it looked like an answer.
Jace appeared behind me carrying a bowl of cereal.
He noticed me staring.
“What?”
I looked around the room.
“You unpacked.”
His ears immediately turned red.
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not making it weird.”
“You look like you’re about to cry.”
I reached up and wiped my cheek.
“Go eat your cereal.”
A smile appeared on his face.
Then he walked downstairs.
And for the first time since Jace had arrived, there wasn’t a packed bag sitting in his room waiting for somebody to change their mind.
