When I walked into the room, it was spotless. Clean sheets. Open curtains letting in the dim light of the garden.
I stood in the center of the room for a few seconds. It was not the first time I had slept there.
But it was the first since I officially stopped being part of that family.
I sat on the edge of the bed, listened to the silence of the house. Some door closes down.
Soft steps, then nothing.
I thought of Clara. In how she looked holding her father's hand. In how she trusted me without questioning when she had to delegate. In how she looked at me in the cemetery.
I slowly took off my jacket, resting my hands on my face.
I'm tired. But more than tired, I'm aware. Aware that this place was my home.
And that, although things have changed, today they have allowed me to once aga
