Home Was Supposed To Feel Like Relief
The flight back from Singapore felt endless, but Adrian Cole barely noticed the hours. He’d spent three months closing a high-stakes global partnership for his financial technology firm. The deal would make headlines, impress investors, and secure his company for the next decade.
None of it mattered the way one thing did.
Hannah. Eight years old.
Curious eyes. A laugh that could soften even the hardest day.
She reminded him of her mother, who had been gone for a long time now, leaving Adrian to figure out how to be both parent and protector.
In the backseat of his armored black sedan, Adrian stared at the oversized teddy bear he’d bought at the airport. It was ridiculous, barely fitting beside him, but he could already picture Hannah’s face when she saw it. His driver, Miles, glanced at him through the mirror.
“Sir?”
Adrian blinked.
“Yeah.”
“We’re almost there.”
Adrian exhaled, feeling the familiar pull of home in his chest. He imagined Hannah sprinting across the marble foyer, her socks sliding, her arms flinging wide as she yelled his name.
He imagined the smell of crayons and vanilla lotion, the little chaos she always brought into the house like sunlight. The gates opened.
The mansion rose behind them like a postcard of perfection.
Trimmed hedges. Fountains. Stone paths so clean they looked unused.
And yet something was wrong.
Too quiet. No music.
No laughter. No little shoes slapping against the floor as someone ran to the door.
No Hannah.
Adrian’s grip tightened around the teddy bear’s paw. He stepped out of the car, his stomach knotting for reasons he couldn’t explain. The air was warm, but his skin felt chilled.
The front doors opened slowly, like the house itself didn’t want to welcome him back.
The House Smelled Like Someone Else’s Life
The moment Adrian stepped inside, the cold air-conditioning hit him hard. Not just cool, but sharp, like a hotel lobby that never wanted you to get comfortable.
And the scent—his chest tightened again. No fresh bread.
No flowers from the garden Hannah used to pick and place in tiny vases.
No hint of the homey candle Hannah begged to light during movie nights. Instead: expensive essential oils, clean and sterile, like the place had been wiped of warmth on purpose. His eyes lifted to the main wall of the living room.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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