“Ghosts?” she said, mouth full of foam.

And she meant it.

And Lia herself? She had learned to navigate. To translate. When Sam slammed his door, she knew it wasn't about the step-siblings—it was about the last time their father promised to visit and didn't. When Carlos over-explained a rule, she saw the fear underneath: I don’t know how to be your father, but I’m terrified of failing.

That was the deep thing about stepfamilies, Lia realized. It wasn't just learning new names or remembering who liked crunchy peanut butter. It was learning to inhabit a space where loss and love shared the same closet. Her mother smiled more now, yes. But sometimes Mira would freeze, holding a mug that wasn't her old one, and Lia knew: She’s there, in the before-time.