Just one more day...
That's what I kept whispering to myself for the past six months, clinging to those words every time the grief threatened to pull me under.
But I chose this.
I chose to let the guilt wrap around me like quicksand, sinking deeper and deeper until I couldn't breathe.
This room—once so full of life—now felt like a frozen tomb.
Even in the blistering summer heat, I shivered at the threshold. It wasn't the temperature. It was the memories.
The kind that crawled under your skin and stayed. The kind that made your bones ache.
Once, this space had been alive with warmth and color. My mom's vibrant paintings lit up the walls. Family photos smiled from every corner. Every shelf, every trinket told a story.
Told our story.
Her bed, always made up with those floral sheets she loved. Her cupboard, crammed with bright summer dresses. She hated winter, always said the sun belonged to her.
Now...
The bed was stripped bare. No mattress. No scent of jasmine and sun-soaked cotton.
The cupboard? Empty. Hollow. Like the rest of me.
Even the mirror on the dresser had stopped reflecting anything. Its surface dulled with dust, as though it, too, had gone quiet in her absence.
The shelf where Dad once stacked his business books sat barren now. I could still picture him, lounging in the recliner, eyes scanning titles like "How to Think Like a Founder" and "Built to Last."
But now... the recliner was gone. The books were gone. They were gone.
And this room...was just four walls and silence.
I stepped inside, carefully setting a storage box on the bare frame of the bed.
All night I had been packing.
Piece by piece, I tucked memories away into cardboard and tape, as if boxing them up might make the ache in my chest easier to carry.
Now, it was afternoon.
My limbs were heavy with exhaustion, but my mind felt... empty.
Like it had been running on fumes for far too long.
I reached for the last few photographs scattered across the dresser.
My fingers trembled.
I tried not to look at them for too long.
Didn't want the memories. Didn't want the sting behind my eyes. Didn't want the grief to slip through the cracks in my numbness.
But one photo caught me.
It was from two years ago.
Mom and Dad were sitting side by side, laughing in their patio chairs.
I stood behind them, grinning, arms draped across their shoulders, tilting their heads toward me so our cheeks touched.
I could still hear the laughter. Still feel the summer breeze, the warmth of the day, the weightlessness of joy.
We were smiling.
Alive.
My eyes, brown and bright, sparkled like hers. And somehow... the camera had captured it all.
That light.
That love.
That before.
Then, the shrill ring of my phone shattered the stillness. It sliced through the room, making me flinch as my heart jumped in my chest.

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For Me,There Is Only You |18+|
WerewolfWarning: This book contains mature content. (18+) ___________ This is a story where desire and destiny conflate, His fervent heart seeks his destined mate, Because.... "He was bound by obsession, she was bound by fate." __________ He was too absorbe...