But one spring morning, the house felt different — too still.
The clock ticked louder than usual. The birds outside sang softer.
And when Alexa entered Grandma’s room, she knew.
She sank to the floor beside the bed, her tears soaking into the old quilt. “Don’t leave me too,” she whispered. “Please, not you.”
For days after the funeral, the house felt empty — not just of sound, but of warmth. Every corner carried Grandma’s scent — lavender and soap — and every creak in the floorboards felt like a memory echoing back.
Alexa thought she’d learned to live with absence. She thought she’d built armor thick enough to protect her heart.
But she wasn’t ready for what came next.
A Knock After Twenty Years
Three weeks after Grandma’s funeral, there was a knock at the door.
When Alexa opened it, she froze.
