Ella.
The beach house is just as I remember it, filled with memories of my parents bringing us here every summer to this beautiful place.
The kitchen where my mom and I would spend hours baking, singing, and dancing together appears larger than I remember. The marble counters gleam with a surprising cleanliness, devoid of any ingredients that would normally be left out.
“Honey,” I hear my mother’s voice behind me, and as I turned around, the sight of her standing in the living room. Greeted me Her hair, perfectly blond, shimmered in the sunlight, casting a yellow glow on her.
“Come on, honey,” she says with a beautiful smile, shimmying her shoulders in excitement for our beach outing.
I’m filled with confusion as I look around, questioning how I got here and struggling to grasp what’s
