Emma Watson
The house smelled like old wood and lavender—a scent that should have been comforting, but instead felt suffocating.
It wasn’t the smell. It wasn’t even the house itself.
It was the memories.
Sitting in my mother’s living room, surrounded by the ghosts of a past I’d rather forget, I felt like I didn’t belong here anymore. Maybe I never had.
Lena sat across from me, absentmindedly running her fingers over the fabric of the couch cushion, her expression unreadable. For the past ten minutes, we’d sat in silence, an invisible barrier between us that neither of us knew how to cross.
Mom was resting in her room. The quiet felt unnatural.
I glanced at the clock on the wall. I should leave.
Ray had made it clear—he didn’t want me staying here longer than necessar
