When I got home, I was completely drained. I found myself staring blankly at the living room where I used to teach Lily her alphabets, the garden where I watched her play, and, worst of all, her bedroom where I used to tuck her in and read her stories before bed.
Her things were scattered everywhere, a constant reminder of the little girl I’d lost. The memories seemed to close in on me from every corner, overwhelming me.
Feeling lightheaded, I reached out for the wall to steady myself. I called out for help, and a few maids hurried over.
“Ma’am, sit down. Someone, get her some water!” one of them said, her voice tinged with panic.
I pressed my temples and managed to say, “No, take me to my room. And please, get all of Lily’s things and put them in the attic. Everything. I can’t stand to see them right now.”
They paused for a moment, glancing at each other before agreeing and guiding me to my room. As we made our way, I heard a commotion downstairs and froze when I saw the last people I wanted to deal with right now: Michael and Allison. I rolled my eyes and steeled myself for what was coming.