I shut the door behind me and twisted the lock, not because I felt unsafe, but because I could. The townhouse was quiet—clean, open, echoing with the kind of silence that made you realize just how much noise you'd gotten used to living with. No footsteps above me, no slammed doors, no forced politeness at the dinner table. Just me.
I took a deep breath. The townhouse smelled like lemon cleaner and fresh paint—sharp, clean, unfamiliar, but not a single other person’s scent. It was… more of a relief than I realized it would be as I leaned back against the front door, keys still dangling in my hand. The neighborhood was too affluent to be noisy, but not so removed from transit that it would be hard to get around.
I kicked off my shoes. The sound of them hitting the polished hardwood echoed
