[Outside the Master Bedroom]
Benjamin hadn't stepped into the room in twenty years.
The door opened with the same soft creak it always had, the sound instantly pulling something tight in his chest.
The room smelled faintly of lavender and old wood—clean, maintained, untouched by time.
Pauline stood near the bed.
She was fluffing the pillows, smoothing the fabric with careful, practiced hands.
The sight hit him harder than he expected.
For a moment, Benjamin forgot how to breathe as a wave of nostalgia hit his chest.
She used to do that every morning—quietly, efficiently, humming under her breath without realizing it.
He had watched her from the doorway back then too, only then he had thought it would always be like this.
Pauline didn't turn when he entered.
She didn't need to.
"I wondered how long it would take you," she said calmly.
Benjamin closed the door behind him, the sound echoing softly.
"I came home early," he said.
