The hearth crackled, but the room remained cold.Emerie stood in the foyer, the door closing behind her with a final click. Her fingers were stiff around the divorce scroll, its ribbon still taut. She exhaled into the silence.The house smelled like lavender and smoke—Jolene’s favorite candle, no doubt. The irony didn’t escape her.She turned toward the study. Allan’s voice greeted her first, echoing from the crystal recorder.“Staying over. Jolene’s nausea hit hard tonight. Don’t wait up.”Emerie tapped the crystal off.“I won’t,” she said to the quiet.She moved through the house like a ghost—each footstep soft, deliberate. In the kitchen, she filled the kettle, then stopped. Her hands trembled. She dropped the tea bag into a cup and leaned on the counter.The scent of ginger rose faintly.“It won’t help,” she murmured to herself.From the dining hall came muffled laughter—memories, not sound. She saw herself at twenty, sitting across from Allan, eyes fi
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