Leaving Home
Audrey's fingers trembled as she zipped the last of her suitcases closed. Ashford's streets, once comforting, now felt like chains she needed to break free from. The autumn wind carried the scent of wet leaves and distant coffee shops—a familiar smell that now seemed almost mocking.
Leaving was difficult, but it was the only way she could heal.
Her heart skipped at the thought of leaving, especially remembering the memories of betrayal she witnessed from a man she once loved and her sister whom she trusted. Each step toward the train station felt heavier than the last. The town she had called home all her life now looked like a photograph fading at the edges. But deep down, a flicker of hope urged her forward: Rosewood was her chance at a new beginning, a place where she could heal and maybe, just maybe, love again.
Rosewood welcomed her with quiet streets lined with cobblestones, soft golden light spilling from the windows of small cafes. The town smelled faintly of baked bread and fresh rain—Nothing like Ashford's cold familiarity. Audrey took a deep breath, letting the new scents and sounds wash over her. For the first time in weeks, she felt peace mixed with nervous anticipation
Miles away, Alex stepped off the bus in Rosewood, dragging a battered suitcase behind him. Willowbrook's bustling markets and noisy streets felt like a lifetime ago. His past had been heavy, full of mistakes and regrets he was determined to leave behind. Rosewood's calm streets promised anonymity, a fresh start—and maybe, a chance to cross paths with someone who could change his life for the better.
The taxi barely had time to stop before the front door of the small cream-colored house opened.
"Oh dear, you must be Audrey," a soft voice called out.
Audrey turned to see an elderly woman standing on the porch, her silver hair neatly pinned back, a warm smile stretching across her face. She wore a knitted cardigan despite the mild weather, and her eyes held a kindness that immediately eased the tight knot in Audrey's chest.
"Yes, ma'am," Audrey replied, stepping out and pulling her suitcase behind her.
"Please, call me Mrs. Edith," the woman said, already making her way down the steps. "You must be exhausted. Traveling does that to the bones."
She gently took one of Audrey's smaller bags without waiting for permission, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"This house has been quiet for far too long," Mrs. Edith continued as she led the way inside. "I'm glad it finally has a bit of life again."
The hallway smelled of polish and something sweet—perhaps freshly baked bread. Audrey glanced around, taking in the framed photographs lining the walls: smiling children, old family portraits, moments frozen in happier times.
Mrs. Edith paused and studied Audrey carefully. "You've come a long way," she said softly. "I can see it in your eyes."
Audrey swallowed. "I just… needed a fresh start."
"Well," Mrs. Edith said kindly, squeezing her hand, "Rosewood is very good at helping people find themselves again. No rush, no pressure. You rest, and we'll take everything one day at a time."
She opened the door to Audrey's room and stepped aside. "Dinner will be ready in an hour. Nothing fancy—just soup and warm bread. You look like someone who could use a home-cooked meal."
For the first time since leaving Ashford, Audrey smiled—small, but real.
"Thank you," she whispered.
Mrs. Edith smiled back. "You're welcome dear."
Audrey's room was small but comforting, the kind of place that felt like a deep breath after holding one for too long. Soft cream walls caught the afternoon light that filtered through lace curtains, giving the room a warm, golden glow. A single window overlooked a quiet street lined with old trees, their leaves whispering whenever the wind passed through.
The bed sat neatly against the wall, covered with a faded floral quilt that smelled faintly of lavender. It wasn't new, but it felt welcoming—like it had been waiting for her. A small wooden bedside table held a lamp with a soft yellow shade, a half-read book, and her phone, always face-down, as if she were protecting herself from memories she wasn't ready to face.
In one corner stood a modest wardrobe, its doors slightly worn, beside a suitcase she hadn't yet fully unpacked. A framed photograph rested on the dresser—Audrey as a child, smiling before life became complicated. She hadn't decided whether to keep it there or tuck it away.
The air carried the scent of fresh paint and old wood, mixed with something calming she couldn't quite place. It wasn't home—not yet—but it was safe. And for the first time in a long while, Audrey felt like healing here might actually be possible.
For the first time since the betrayal Audr
ey slept without fear.