By the time I got home, the sky had begun to shift from gray to gold, and everything in me felt stretched thin like I had walked too far, spoken too much, learned more than I had the strength to carry.
The hallway lights flickered on automatically as I stepped through the door, but the silence that greeted me wasn’t peaceful it was too still, too polished, like grief had passed through earlier and cleaned up after itself.
I dropped my coat on the arm of the couch and pressed my fingers to my temples, the weight of Eleanor’s letter still pressing against my ribs like truth had turned physical and wouldn’t leave.
The memory of that room the trunk, the photos, the name written in my mother’s handwriting clung to my skin more tightly than the rain ever had, and for the first time since I le
