Chapter 50
Annalisa
If bad decisions had a scent, it would be whatever cologne Aunt Catherine was wearing when she opened her apartment door. I perceived a mixture of vanilla, desperation, and "I’m a single mother trying my best," and it hit me like a punch to the face as I stood there in my oversized hoodie, clutching a Starbucks coffee cup like it was the only thing holding me together.
“You came,” she said, looking more shocked than pleased.
“Yeah, don’t get too excited,” I replied, stepping inside before she could invite me. I wasn’t here for her warm hugs or her recycled wisdom. I was here for my mom.
The apartment smelled like lemon-scented floor cleaner and freshly baked bread, and I hated how cozy it felt. Cozy meant safe. Cozy meant “you can trust me,” and Catherine had neve
