It never slowed, just kept going straight past my house and vanished down the hill.

I leaned back into the wooden cushions, holding the warm mug in both hands.

I touched my silver pendant once more, feeling its smooth face under my fingertips as the sky deepened into a quiet shade of blue above the roofline.

“Six thirty p.m. is just another quiet hour of the evening now,” I said softly to myself.

Inside the house, the hands of my father’s silver pocket watch reached six thirty p.m. without making a sound.

The driveway stayed empty.

No sedan swung onto the gravel, no shadow crossed the front steps, and no key ring rattled against the front door lock.

I set my coffee cup on the little wooden table next to the glider as six thirty p.m. came and went without the jingle of car keys.

I got up, walked to the edge of the porch, and laid both hands flat on the wooden railing.

The porch light shone bright over a home that was finally mine.