It wasn’t just drifting off her skin in the usual irritating cloud. It was stronger, heavier—like it had lingered here, soaked into air that had been trapped.
It was the scent of someone who hadn’t just walked through.
It was the scent of someone who’d been living.
A cold prickle ran up my spine.
I stared at the staircase, at the second floor that held the guest suites, the quiet hall, the rooms I’d kept pristine because I liked the idea of space untouched by anyone else’s chaos.Something in my chest tightened, a sensation somewhere between dread and confirmation.
I didn’t wait.
I spun and sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
“Denise!” my mother shouted behind me, startled. “Where do you think you’re going?”
My father’s footsteps thundered after mine, heavier, angry. Kristen’s laugh followed, too light, too confident.
I reached the second floor landing and ran down the hall to the guest suite I’d furnished in neutral tones—soft gray bedding, a leather chair by the window, a small desk that no one had used yet. The door was closed.
It shouldn’t have been.
My hand hit the handle. I flung it open.
And my breath caught.