STELLA'S POV
The soft clinking of dishes echoed through the empty house as I wiped them and cleaned down the kitchen counters.
The smell of chamomile tea still lingered in the house. James’s mother had already gone to sleep I was so glad she was getting better.
We had dinner together and I had made sure she ate well, tucked her blanket properly, and even massaged her hands when she complained about the ache in her wrists.
Some parts of her hands were still bruised, and no one had really given me details of what exactly happened. Maybe it was probably not important, I told myself. At least she was safe.
I did everything I could for her cooking, cleaning, listening. It was easy to care for her; it made me feel like I was actually part of a family, something I’d always wanted.
But even
