And for once, I didn’t soften it.

“Yes,” I replied.

Because some truths don’t need comfort. They just need to be said.

I stayed in Aunt Lydia’s house.

At first, every room ached with her absence. But slowly, grief softened. It became something I could live with.

I turned the spare room into a study.
Planted the flowers she always wanted.
Opened my door to continue reading …