Chapter 1: Home Doesn't Forget
959 Words
"I thought you said you weren't coming back."
The voice stopped me before I even had the chance to close my car door.
I froze.
For one second, I hoped I was imagining it.
Slowly, I turned around.
There he was.
Ethan Brooks.
Ten years had passed, but somehow, he looked almost the same. His dark hair was a little shorter. His face carried a few more lines than I remembered. He looked older, stronger, more settled.
His green eyes, though...
Those hadn't changed at all.
They still had the strange way of making me feel seen.
I tightened my grip on my car keys.
"I wasn't planning to."
His eyes searched my face, almost like he was trying to find the girl he once knew.
"I'm sorry about your grandmother."
The words were gentle.
Too gentle.
I nodded once.
"Thank you."
Silence settled between us.
The surrounding town moved as if nothing had happened. A few people walked past. Someone laughed outside the bakery. A truck rolled down the street.
But for me, everything had stopped.
This was the man I had once promised forever.
The man who had put a ring on my finger.
The man who had broken my heart.
"I heard you built quite a life in the city," he said.
"I did."
"You look happy."
I almost laughed.
"You shouldn't assume."
His jaw tightened.
"I wasn't trying to."
"No?"
"No."
I looked away at first.
I had imagined this meeting a hundred times over the years.
Sometimes I screamed at him.
Sometimes I cried.
Sometimes I walked away without saying a word.
None of those things happened.
Instead, we stood there like strangers who shared too many memories.
"I should go," I said quietly.
He nodded.
"Of course."
I opened my car door.
"Ivy."
I paused.
"If you need anything while you're here..."
I didn't let him finish.
"I won't."
His face fell for the smallest moment.
Then he stepped back.
"Take care of yourself."
I climbed into my car before my eyes could betray me.
As I drove away, I caught his reflection in my mirror.
He was still standing exactly where I'd left him.
Watching me leave.
Just like ten years ago.
The roads in Ashbrook hadn't changed much.
The same flower shop stood on the corner.
The old bookstore still had its faded blue sign.
The café where Ethan and I used to spend Saturday mornings looked busier than ever.
Every street carried another memory.
Every turn reminded me why I had stayed away.
Coming back had never been part of my plan.
But plans didn't matter when death came knocking.
Grandma had been my home long before this house ever was.
When my parents divorced, she raised me.
When I left Ashbrook with a broken heart, she called every Sunday without fail.
She never pushed.
She simply reminded me that I always had a place to come back to.
Now she was gone.
The thought still didn't feel real.
I parked outside her house and sat behind the wheel for another minute.
"You can do this," I whispered.
I wasn't sure I believed myself.
The front garden looked exactly as she had left it.
The white roses still lined the fence.
The porch swing moved gently in the breeze.
I walked toward the front door.
Halfway there, I stopped.
The front door was open.
I frowned.
Had Maggie come by?
"Hello?"
No answer.
I stepped inside.
The house smelled different.
Fresh paint.
Sawdust.
Wood.
I blinked.
There were plastic sheets covering the hallway floor.
A toolbox sat beside the stairs.
"What..."
Voices drifted from the kitchen.
Men's voices.
I followed the sound.
Three workers stood measuring the walls while another wrote something on a clipboard.
All four men looked up when they saw me.
One of them smiled politely.
"Morning."
"I'm sorry," I said. "I think you've got the wrong house."
The men exchanged confused looks.
"No, ma'am."
"This is my grandmother's house."
"Yes."
"Then why are you here?"
The older man checked the papers in his hand.
"Renovation."
"I didn't hire anyone."
Another silence.
He frowned.
"We were told everything had already been approved."
"It hasn't."
My stomach twisted.
There had to be some mistake.
I hadn't even unpacked my suitcase.
I had planned to spend today walking through the rooms, sorting Grandma's things, deciding what to keep before calling a contractor myself.
So who had hired these people?
I looked around again.
Someone had already started removing old cabinets.
The wallpaper in the hallway was gone.
Dust floated through the air.
This wasn't a mistake made yesterday.
Work had already begun.
I felt something sharp settle in my chest.
This house was the last piece of my grandmother I had left.
Someone had walked in and started changing it before I even arrived.
I took a slow breath.
"I'm sorry," I said as calmly as I could. "You'll have to stop working until I figure out what's going on."
The workers looked uncomfortable.
The older man scratched his head.
"I should probably call the boss."
"Please do."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
A few seconds later, he spoke quietly.
"She's here."
My heart beat faster.
She?
No.
Not she.
Me.
He listened for another moment.
Then nodded.
"All right."
He hung up.
"Our boss is on his way."
I folded my arms.
"Good."
I wanted answers.
And this time, I wasn't walking away until I got them.
Outside, the sound of a truck pulling into the driveway.
The workers immediately looked toward the front door.
"So did I."
The driver's door opened.
A pair of worn work boots touched the ground.
Then familiar green eyes met mine once again.
My breath caught.
Ethan.
- Writer
