After showing that strange and rude man to the guest room, Rose finally returned to her own. The moment she stepped inside, she felt her shoulders drop. All the tension, fear, and confusion of the night weighed down on her chest. She shut the door behind her and didn't even bother to turn on the lights. The moonlight coming through the curtains was enough.
She walked slowly to her bed and collapsed on it face-first. Her body sank into the soft mattress, and she let out a quiet sigh. Her hand reached blindly toward the side table, feeling for something familiar. Her fingers curled around a photo frame.
Rose turned it toward her and sat up, holding the frame gently in her hands.
There it was.
Her favorite photo—her smiling, younger self with Sparkle nestled in her arms. The cat's fur was glossy and soft in the picture, and the little pink collar with a heart-shaped bell still hung around his neck. She had taken that photo on the morning of her birthday, just a week before he died.
