Rose’s POV
The snow crunched beneath my boots as I stepped out of the car, the icy air biting at my cheeks. Margaret’s house loomed in front of me, a far cry from the grand estate it had once been. The peeling paint and overgrown yard were stark reminders of how much time had passed—and how much had been lost.
I hesitated for a moment before knocking, my hand trembling slightly. The sound echoed through the quiet evening, and I braced myself for whatever welcome Margaret had in store.
The door opened slowly, and there she stood, her eyes bloodshot and her robe hastily tied around her waist. She looked at me with a mix of exhaustion and wariness, leaning against the doorframe.
“Rose?” she said, her voice rough, likely from another round of drinking. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”
