The room held its breath.
So did I.
My hand still rested on the leather journal, but I couldn't bring myself to open it.
Not yet.
Somehow, opening it felt... permanent.
As though the moment I read my mother's words, there would be no returning to the girl who had walked into this room only minutes before.
I wasn't sure she existed anymore.
Slowly, I lifted my hand away.
The journal wasn't going anywhere.
It had waited nineteen years.
It could wait a few minutes longer.
Instead, I let my eyes wander across the room.
Morning light poured through the tall windows, bathing everything in warm gold. Dust drifted lazily through the air, turning as though time itself had forgotten how to move here.
Nothing felt abandoned.
Nothing felt forgotten.
It felt...
Paused.
As though my mot
