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Tilly kicks her legs again, her socked feet knocking against one of the hanging toys. Chase lowers himself to the floor beside her with the kind of focus he usually only reserves for anything involving math.

“Hey, princess. I’m your Uncle Chase. We haven’t met properly yet, but I already know you’re pretty amazing.” His eyes water as Tilly curls her fingers around one of his. “I love you so much, baby girl,” he chokes out.

I’ve spent the past few weeks falling hopelessly in love with the little one, but seeing the same devotion written all over Chase’s face means more to me than I can put into words. She won’t ever have to question whether she’s loved. Not while she has us.

For a while, nothing happens. Then Tilly smiles. It isn't one of those gassy smiles people try to pass off as intentional. It’s real, all wide and gummy, lighting up her whole face.

“No way,” I mutter with a chuckle. I can't exactly blame Tilly. My little brother has always been easy to like, even if I'll never admit that to him.

Chase turns to me with the most self-satisfied look I’ve ever seen. “She likes me.”

“She likes to smile at the ceiling fan, too, if that helps.”

“Don’t be jealous, old man.”

“I'm not jealous,” I scoff, both at the nickname and his comment. “I'm offended. I've been keeping her alive for weeks, and then you walk in, becoming her favorite in less than five seconds. How’s that fair?”

“She knows I'm the fun one. Don't you, Tills?” Chase boops her button nose, and she rewards him with a giggle.

I point a finger at him. “Do not start that uncle competition shit with me.”

“Too late.” His grin grows even wider. “I'm already winning, bro.”

“Damn kids these days,” I say and shake my head with an exaggerated sigh.

Chase lets out a snort and nudges my shoulder with his. “Just because you’re ancient, it doesn’t give you a reason to be bitter.”

“I’m twenty-seven. That’s still super young.”

“Maybe in your book.”

God, I've missed this little shit. And I've missed his shit-stirring even more. I bump his shoulder right back. “Shut up, bro.”

Tilly lets out another happy sound and Chase looks down at her like she personally handed him the moon. Some of the strain I’ve been carrying finally gives way—Chase is here. Tilly is happy. Livia is alive. My family is safe.

From the other side of the room, a door opens. Chase looks up at the same time Livia appears. She’s wearing one of Peyton’s T-shirts and a pair of gray sweatpants I bought her yesterday. Her hair is damp from the shower and combed back from her face, leaving her features bare and looking younger. Tired, too, with the shadows beneath her eyes that sleep won’t fix overnight. But she’s no longer out of reach from us. That must count for something.

“Chase,” our sister says, her voice small and timid.

His face crumples before he gets up from the floor. “Liv.”

They meet in the middle of the living room and hug each other so tightly I have to look away. It’s too much and not enough. That’s the problem with moments like this. They give you exactly what you want, then remind you of all the years you lost.

Livia starts crying first. Chase’s tears follow, though he tries to hide them by burying his face against her hair. I stay where I am, giving them space, because they deserve it without me hovering for once. They were also separated in the chaos. I know that well. It just doesn't stop me from believing it was my job to keep us together.

After a while, Livia lets out a shaky laugh and pulls back enough to look at our little brother. “You’re so tall.”

Chase sniffs. “That’s what Ollie said.”

Our sister’s smile wobbles, but it’s there. A glimpse of the girl who once took the last Pop-Tart and blamed me because she knew I’d take the fall. The girl who used to dance through grocery store aisles when she thought no one was watching. The girl who laughed with her whole body before life started taking pieces of her faster than I could put them back together. I hold onto that smile like it's proof. Proof that beneath everything addiction has stolen from her, us, my little sister is still there.

We manage to get out of the apartment by early afternoon, which is impressive considering it took approximately forty-seven years to leave the house with a baby and my siblings.

First Tilly needed a bottle. Then a diaper change. Then a different outfit because she spit up on the first one. Then Livia disappeared into the bathroom because her hands started shaking and she needed a minute to get herself together. Then Chase forgot his wallet upstairs after we’d made it down to the street level.

Miraculously, no one ended up crying. Well, no one except me. Internally. I'm overheated and a bit cranky, but everyone's finally settled. Tilly is fast asleep in her stroller, Livia looks calmer now that we're outside, and Chase is carrying three drinks from the corner café without spilling a single drop.

“You're welcome,” he says, handing me one of the iced coffees.