~ Becca ~
I came back on a Thursday.
Not because it mattered but because the city felt lazier on Thursdays. Less alert. Less ceremonial. People still believed the week was routine, not dramatic. That suited me.
I didn’t drive straight into my old neighborhood. I didn’t even look in its direction. Nostalgia was a trap, and I had outgrown walking into rooms unarmored.
The car I rented was clean, anonymous, forgettable. I parked three blocks from the hotel I’d chosen and walked the rest of the way, heels steady against the pavement, coat hanging just loose enough to suggest ease instead of effort.
No one recognized me.
That mattered more than I expected.
The hotel lobby smelled like citrus polish and quiet money. The kind of place people stayed when they wanted to be comfortable withou
