Clara
The door opens before me… and for a second, I freeze in the doorway.
I don't go in immediately; my feet are rooted to the spot… as if I can't move forward before taking it all in.
"Clara…"
I hear my mother's whisper, but I don't move. There's something about this place that holds me back.
It's not rejection, nor is it fear… It's… a strange feeling.
As if I'm standing before something I should acknowledge… but I can't quite manage it.
"Come in, daughter…" my mother says gently.
I take a step, then another, and finally enter.
My eyes scan everything: the wide bed, perfectly made, almost too perfect… The pillows arranged with precision, the curtains letting in a soft light that illuminates every corner.
Everything seems… cared for, thought about… inhabited.
But not by me.
I
