By the time we were finally allowed to leave the hospital, the sun had already disappeared.

I hadn't noticed it happening. The last time I remembered looking through one of the windows, the sky had still been pale blue, washed out by the afternoon light. Then there had been doctors and nurses and papers. Phone numbers. Appointments. Questions. More appointments. More questions. Words I tried to remember even though I knew most of them weren't meant for me.

Therapy. Follow-ups. Check-ins. Safety plans.

Someone talked to Willow and Kai about what the next few days should look like. Someone else explained what to do if Riley started remembering more. Another doctor reminded them that memory could return in strange ways, through smells and sounds and places and feelings.

But There were discussions about sleep and routines and things Riley should avoid while his brain continued to heal. It felt endless. Every time I thought we were finished, someone else appeared with another clipboard.

Through all of it, Riley grew quieter.

I watched exhaustion slowly settle into him until it looked like something physical. His shoulders slumped. His eyes became heavy. He stopped asking as many questions. At one point, Willow asked if he was okay, and he stared at her for several seconds before admitting that he didn't know how to answer that question anymore.

I understood. I didn't think any of us knew how to answer that question anymore.

How could anyone be okay after a day like this? How could Riley go home after discovering that he had once tried to leave the world? How could he sit through hours of doctors explaining a life he couldn't remember living? How could he hear people making plans to keep him safe from a version of himself who had become a stranger?

I watched him sign papers with handwriting he probably didn't recognize, and that hurt me more than I expected. I wondered if he noticed. I wondered if he looked at his own name and thought it belonged to someone else.

Eventually, after what felt like an entire lifetime spent beneath fluorescent lights, we were finally told we could leave.

Riley had appointments scheduled. Several of them. He would begin seeing a therapist. He had follow-up visits with doctors. Willow and Kai had been given phone numbers to call and instructions for what to do if anything changed.

There was a plan now.

I thought that was supposed to make everything feel better, and it did a little, but plans were strange things. Plans made you feel like you had control over something that had already proven how uncontrollable it could be.

Still, I was grateful for them because Riley was going home again. He was getting another chance to walk out of the hospital, and this time, we knew more than we had before. This time, he wasn't only going home with injuries we could see. This time, everyone knew there were things inside him that needed healing too.

I texted Mom while we were waiting for Willow to bring the car around.

Willow and Kai are taking me home. Dad doesn't have to come back.

Her reply came almost immediately.

Okay. Tell them thank you. Are you alright?

I stared at the question.

I had no idea.

So I typed the easiest answer.

I'm tired.

Mom sent back a heart.

She understood.

The ride home was quiet. Milo had fallen asleep before we even left the hospital parking lot, curled awkwardly in his seat with his head tilted against the window and his mouth slightly open. Pumpkin was trapped beneath one of his arms. Lydia sat beside him, awake but barely. Her forehead rested against the window, and every few minutes her eyes closed before she forced them open again.

Riley sat beside me, and that felt strange. Not because Riley sitting beside me was strange. It was one of the most normal things in the world, and that was the problem. I had spent fourteen years sitting beside Riley in cars, classrooms, couches, kitchen floors, park benches, and hospital rooms.

Sitting beside him should have felt ordinary.

Instead, I noticed everything. The few inches between our knees. The way his shoulder almost touched mine whenever Kai turned a corner. The way he stared through the window. The reflection of his face in the dark glass.

I wondered what he was thinking, but I didn't ask. The day had contained enough questions.

At one point, his eyes closed. I looked at him for one second, then another, then longer than I should have.

He looked exhausted. His head rested against the seat, his hair falling messily over his forehead. The passing streetlights moved across his face, illuminating him for a second before leaving him in darkness again. Light. Dark. Light. Dark. I thought about the journal. I thought about the drawing of the person drowning. I thought about the boy who had made that drawing. Then I looked at the boy beside me and still didn't understand how they were the same person.

Maybe I never would.

Maybe that was something I needed to accept.

People were not only what they showed you.

Riley had taught me that in the worst possible way. You could know someone's favorite song and not know what kept them awake at night. You could know how they took their coffee and not know they were struggling to get out of bed. You could know the sound of every laugh they had and still not know how often they cried when they were alone. You could love someone with everything inside you and still not know every part of them.

That thought used to make me feel guilty. It still did. But now there was something else beside the guilt. Understanding. Not forgiveness. I wasn't ready to forgive myself yet. But maybe understanding was the first step toward it.

The car stopped in front of my house. I blinked, realizing for a moment I had forgotten where we were. The porch light was on. The curtains in the living room were open, and I could see the glow of the television through the window.

Home.

Suddenly, I wanted my bed more than I had ever wanted anything.

I unbuckled my seat belt. "Thank you for bringing me home."

Willow turned around from the passenger seat. "Of course, sweetheart."

Kai looked at me through the rearview mirror. "Tell your dad I said hello."

"I will."

I looked toward Lydia. Her eyes were closed.

"Good night, Lydia."

She lifted one hand without opening her eyes.

I smiled.

Then I looked at Riley.

He was watching me.

"Good night," I said softly.

His expression changed only slightly. Maybe it was the words. Maybe some part of him was waiting for the rest. My heart tightened because I wanted to say it. I wanted to whisper, Good night, Romeo. But I didn't. Not tonight. Tonight, Riley had remembered something. Tonight, I didn't need to meet the old version of him in my dreams. For one tiny moment, he had met me here.

I reached for the door handle.

"Autumn."

I stopped with my hand still on the handle and turned around.

Riley was looking at me.

"Yeah?"

"Text me when you get inside."

Everything inside me stopped.

I stared at him, and the car went silent. Not that it had been loud before, but this silence was different. Heavy. Awake. I forgot about the door handle. I forgot about going inside. I forgot how tired I was. I only stared at Riley.

He stared back, and after a few seconds, confusion appeared on his face.

"What?"

My throat closed.

I couldn't answer because he didn't know. He didn't know that he had said those exact words to me hundreds of times. Maybe thousands. Every time he dropped me off somewhere. Every time I walked home from his house. Every time we separated after dark. Every time I insisted I could make it from his driveway to my front door without dying.

Text me when you get inside.

I always teased him.

Riley, you can literally see my house from yours.

Don't care.

You'll watch me walk inside.

Probably.

Then why do I have to text you?

Because.

Because why?

Because I said so.

Then I would roll my eyes. Every time.

And every time, I texted him.

Made it inside.

His response was always the same.

Alive?

Alive.

I stared at him now, unable to speak. Riley's confusion deepened.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

From the front seat, Willow slowly turned her head toward Kai. Kai looked at her, and they exchanged a look. They knew. Of course they knew. They had probably heard Riley tell me that a thousand times too.

I looked back at Riley. He still looked confused. He had no idea why the entire car had suddenly become quiet. No idea why my eyes were filling with tears. No idea why Willow was staring at Kai. No idea that he had just reached into fourteen years of our lives and pulled out another piece without even realizing it.

"Autumn?"

I blinked. "Sorry." I smiled, but it trembled. "I'm just tired."

"Did I say something wrong?" He asked.

"No," I said quickly. "No. You didn't."

"Then why are you crying?"

I touched my cheek and realized a tear had fallen. I wiped it away. "I told you. Long day."

He looked like he didn't believe me. Maybe some things about him hadn't changed.

I smiled again. "I'll text you."

Riley nodded. "Okay."

Then I remembered.

He didn't have his phone. Willow hadn't given it back.

My heart cracked open.

Riley didn't seem to realize it either. He had told me to text him purely from instinct. A habit. A piece of us so deeply buried inside him that it had survived even when he couldn't remember why.

I looked at Willow. Her eyes were wet. She smiled only a little. Kai looked back toward the road, but I saw him shake his head softly. Not in disappointment. In disbelief.

I opened the car door, and cold evening air rushed against me. I stepped out.

"Good night," I said again.

"Good night," Riley answered.

I closed the door before walking toward my house. I could feel the car behind me. I wondered if Riley was watching. He always watched. Every single time.

I reached the porch. My hands were shaking as I opened the front door. Warm light spilled over me, and Mom called my name from somewhere inside. I stepped through the doorway and stopped with my hand still on the door.

I looked down at my phone.

For a second, I almost opened our messages.

Almost.

But there was no point.

Riley didn't have his phone. He wouldn't answer.

I closed my eyes, and inside my head, I typed the message anyway.

Made it inside.

I waited.

The house was warm around me. I could hear my family moving somewhere beyond the hallway. I could hear Hudson laughing at something on television. I could smell whatever Dad had made for dinner. But in my mind, I was somewhere else. I was inside thousands of old nights. Thousands of goodbyes. Thousands of times Riley had needed to know I was safe.

And right on time, I heard his answer in my head.

Alive?

My lips trembled.

I looked through the window beside the door. Kai's car was still there. They hadn't left yet. Of course they hadn't. Riley always waited until I got inside.

A tear slipped down my cheek.

Alive, I answered silently.

The car began to pull away, and I watched until the taillights disappeared.

Then I stood there for a long time with my hand still wrapped around my phone and my heart still somewhere inside that car. I thought about the red umbrella, the cream blanket, the way Riley had held onto my waist, and the way his hand had reached for mine. I thought about those six little words that had come out of his mouth without him understanding why.

Text me when you get inside.

Maybe memories were not the only things that could survive. Maybe habits could. Maybe love could. Maybe caring for someone for fourteen years left behind instincts too deep for an accident to erase.

Riley didn't remember worrying about me, but he still worried. He didn't remember watching me walk inside, but the car still waited. He didn't remember the question.

Alive?

But I did.

I remembered enough for both of us.

I wiped my cheeks and finally walked farther into the house. My family was waiting for me, and tomorrow there would be more questions, more memories that might come back, and more memories that might never return. There would be therapy, doctors, fear, and hope. There would be good days and terrible ones. There would be moments when Riley felt like my Riley again, and there would be moments when he felt like a stranger.

But tonight, I held onto one tiny, ordinary thing.

He had remembered to tell me to text him.

Maybe he didn't know why. Maybe he never would.

But as I climbed the stairs toward my bedroom, I whispered our old conversation one more time.

"Made it inside."

I imagined his answer.

"Alive?"

I closed my eyes and smiled through my tears.

"Alive."