Kael Woods
Morning light streams into the room, warm and bright, but it feels wrong. The walls still hold the ghost of another woman. My late wife’s face stares back at me from every frame, every corner of this house.
It makes my skin crawl.
I don’t want to see her when I wake up. I don’t want her shadow anywhere near Amy. This is Amy’s space now.
“Take them all down,” I order coldly, my voice sharp enough to make the servants freeze. “Every single one. Burn them if you have to. I want her gone from these walls.”
“Yes, sir,” one stammers, rushing to obey.
“And replace them,” I continue, pacing slowly, a predator stalking its territory. “Every frame, every mantle, every room—I want Amy’s face everywhere. This house belongs to her now. She belongs to me.”
As they move quickly, removin
