The House WE Built.

4

Beyoncé Knowles.

I parked in front of Danielle's house, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my hands started to ache. Naomi's sister had lived here for years, in the house Naomi called her "escape." Danielle's place was her second home—a grounding force in her life, especially when I wasn't there.

I used to drop Naomi off here on weekends when she'd say she needed time away. At the time, I didn't think much of it. I'd kiss her goodbye, promise to call, and head back to my deadlines. But now, sitting here staring at the same white shutters and carefully tended flowerbeds, all I could feel was the weight of that distance.

The door opened before I could knock. Danielle stood there, her expression caught between cautious and annoyed. She looked the same—dark curls framing her face, her eyes sharp with something she hadn't forgiven.

"Beyoncé," she said, her tone clipped. "It's been a while."

"Too long," I replied, forcing my voice to stay calm. "Thank you for seeing me."

She nodded but didn't smile. "Mom and Dad are in the living room."

She stepped aside, and I walked into the house, immediately overwhelmed by its familiarity. The lemon polish and faint scent of coffee were the same. The furniture hadn't moved. But the warmth was gone, replaced by a heaviness that weighed down the air.

Evelyn and Michael—Naomi's parents—were seated in the living room. Evelyn sat on the edge of the couch, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked up when she saw me, her face softening into a faint smile. Michael sat back in his chair, his arms crossed, his jaw tight. Danielle followed me in, taking a seat in the armchair near her mother. She didn't look at me.

"Beyoncé," Evelyn said gently. "It's good to see you."

"You too," I replied, though the words felt hollow. I sat down across from them, my hands clasped tightly in my lap, forcing myself to meet their eyes.

There was no easy way to start, so I just said it.

"I wanted to talk to you all about something important," I began, carefully choosing my words. "It's about the house."

Evelyn's faint smile disappeared. Michael's jaw tightened. Danielle's gaze sharpened, her body stiffening as if she already knew what I was about to say.

"I've decided to renovate it," I said, my voice steady but my heart racing. "It's been sitting untouched for too long, and I feel like—"

"Renovate?" Danielle cut in, her voice sharp. She leaned forward, her arms crossed tightly. "What do you mean, 'renovate'?"

I exhaled, steadying myself. "I mean bringing it back to life. The way it is now... it feels frozen. Stuck in time. I want to honor Naomi's memory, but I also need to make it a place where I can—"

"Where you can what?" Danielle's voice rose. "Move on? Redecorate? That house was Naomi's dream, Beyoncé. And now you're just going to change it?"

"Danielle," Evelyn said softly, reaching out to her, but Danielle shook her head.

"You can't preserve someone's spirit by tearing apart what they built," Danielle said, her voice trembling. "That house wasn't just a house to her—it was everything."

"She's right," Michael said, his voice low but firm. "That house was her sanctuary. It was her work, her life. Maybe if you'd spent more time there, you'd understand that."

The words hit like a punch. Memories rushed forward—Naomi asking me to stay one weekend, the way her voice dimmed when I told her I couldn't. My chest tightened, guilt pressing against my ribs. He wasn't wrong.