When I return, Ethan is no longer in the garden. I climb the stairs almost by instinct.
The door to his room is ajar, I see him inside, with his back turned, taking off his jacket with controlled, too controlled movements.
I don't dare to go in, I stay in the hallway, with a strange feeling squeezing my chest.
Alexander is right about something.
There is history, there is a past, there are connections. But there are also wounds.
And I don't know if what is stirring in me these days is love... or simply the echo of what we once were.
All I know is that, for the first time since Dad died, grief is no longer the only thing weighing on me. Now there is also confusion.
I knew it was going to happen at some point. Nothing is permanent. Not even his constant presence these days.
The call
