The cottage fell quiet once more, but not empty. Their presence lingered—the dent in Mabel’s chair, the chill where the door had stood open. Lauren moved through the rooms, straightening cushions, feeling the space altered, as if echoes of voices still brushed the walls.
By the hearth, Mabel’s scarf lay forgotten, soft wool crumpled. Lauren picked it up, fingers finding a folded note tucked in its folds. Ink smudged but legible: “Ask about the house…don’t forget what you wanted.” Her pulse quickened, the words a quiet hook in the stillness.