11

VALERIA

As the door creaked open, I stepped into my home, the worn-out welcome mat beneath my feet a testament to the passage of time. I turned on the fan in the sitting room and listened to the soft hum filling the empty house. Although it was empty, I felt welcomed looking at the walls filled with family photographs. The loud laughter and boisterous conversations were still audible to me. The house was a bungalow with four bedrooms, each with its own story, whispered tales of joy, arguments, and dreams shared among all of us. My heart ached as I recalled all the beautiful memories and what had occurred presently.

The only meal I had eaten that day was the bowl of soup my boss offered me at the hotel, so I walked into the kitchen to help myself with something to eat, silently hoping that there was something in the fridge at least.

Sike.

The fridge was totally empty; there was only a bottle of orange juice, which had been there for a very long time. With a shrug, I grabbed it, along