For the first time in a very long time, I felt like I was driving toward a home.

I pulled up to the familiar brownstone in Brookline and parked along the curb.

The warm, yellow light from the living room window spilled out onto the wet sidewalk.

I grabbed my bag, climbed the stone steps, and knocked on the heavy wooden door.

Within seconds, the lock clicked, and the door swung open.

Daniel stood there, wearing a soft grey sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

His dark hair was slightly messy, and he looked tired, but his eyes brightened the moment he saw me.

“Hi,” he said, stepping aside to let me in.

“Hi,” I replied, stepping into the warm, cinnamon-scented hallway.

The cold air of the street vanished as he closed the door behind me.

“You look like you’ve had quite a day,” Daniel said, taking my coat.

“You have no idea,” I said, offering a small laugh.

“But it’s over.”

“It’s completely over.”

He looked at me closely, his hand lingering near mine as he hung my coat in the closet.