The door clicked quietly behind her, and for a moment, Emily just stood there—frozen in the entryway of her mother’s apartment. The hallway lamp cast a warm, golden glow across the faded floral wallpaper, the same one that had comforted her since she was a child. The smell of cinnamon from her mother’s earlier baking still lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the faint scent of lavender detergent from freshly washed towels.
But none of it touched her.
She felt like she was floating just above her body, suspended in a thick, numb fog.
The confrontation with Oliver at the greenhouse replayed over and over in her mind, like a broken reel she couldn’t shut off. His eyes—furious, confused, heartbroken. The way his voice cracked when he said “Maybe we are”—those four words sliced throug
