The house was quiet.
Not silent in the way the hospital had been—controlled, monitored—but naturally quiet. Lived-in. Real. The faint rustle of leaves outside, the distant hum of a passing car, the soft creak of wood settling into place.
Normal.
Emma stood just inside the doorway, her hand resting lightly on the frame as she took in the space.
Three rooms.
Not large.
Not small.
Just enough.
A modest living area opened in front of her, warm-toned walls catching the afternoon light. A simple couch. A wooden table. Nothing extravagant. Nothing overwhelming.
Through the open doors ahead—
The garden.
Small.
Green.
Untouched.
Waiting.
“This is it,” the realtor said with a polite smile. “It’s on lease. Fully furnished, but we can make any changes you’d like.”
Emma didn’t answer im
