For the first time in weeks, Benedict allowed himself to feel something other than anger. Standing in the room that had once been his mother's sanctuary, he felt her presence. It was a bittersweet comfort, but it strengthened his resolve.
Her favourite flowers, now wilted, still filled the air with a subtle, sweet fragrance. He closed the door behind him, his hand trembling as he traced his fingers along the fabric of her dresses hanging neatly in the wardrobe.
She had always taken such care with her belongings, each item meticulously placed.
This was his house now. And he would let no one—not Anna, not even his father—take it from him. For the first time in days, he let out all his grief... He did not know how long he cried, but he huddled up in the bed, hugging one of her dresses.
He wishes it was all a dream but every time his eyes opened, the reality hit him. He was alone in this world.
