Georgia's POVThe rain had stopped by the time I got inside but I was still soaked, my coat a saturated confession clinging to my skin as I closed the door behind me.I closed it softly. The way you close a door when you are keeping something.Because I was keeping something now. A secret with weight to it, with warmth to it, with the specific gravity of something that has fundamentally altered the person carrying it and cannot be put down or handed off or pretended away.The chandelier fractured light across the marble floors, too harsh, too revealing, the kind of light designed for a showroom rather than a home. Fresh peonies on the console table, arranged with surgical precision, their perfume mixing with polished wood and the antiseptic emptiness that had always underlain this house no matter how many flowers were placed in it. But underneath all of it, clinging to my coat and my hair and my skin, something else.Petrichor. Rain on warm pavement. Cedar and something darker underne
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