In the picturesque town of Leavenworth, Washington, 27-year-old Sofie Bennett leads a life marked by its comforting predictability. As a sweet-natured waitress at The Alpine Tavern-a cozy haven where locals come together for hearty meals and lively...
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As I stepped into my house, the warmth of the evening wrapped around me like a comforting blanket. Ethan's kiss still lingered on my lips, a sweet promise of something more blooming between us. The soft glow from the porch light spilled into the dark living room, creating a cozy atmosphere that made me feel safe. I flicked the switch to turn on the lights, my heart still fluttering with the thrill of the night. But the moment the light flooded the room, my breath hitched, and my stomach twisted in a way I had never felt before. Blood splattered across the walls, pooling on the hardwood floor, glistening darkly under the bright light. My gaze darted wildly around the room, landing on the lifeless form of my grandmother Millie, sprawled unnaturally on the floor. Her gentle smile, which had welcomed me home countless times, was now replaced with an expression of frozen terror.
"No, no, no!" The words escaped my lips in a hoarse whisper, as if uttering them could change the scene before me. I staggered backward, the world spinning around me. My heart raced, pounding violently against my ribcage, each beat echoing in the suffocating silence. My mind was a whirlwind of confusion, disbelief, and horror. This couldn't be real—my grandma, my only family, my anchor.
The blood was everywhere, a stark contrast against the pale colors of our home. I could see her favorite floral apron, once a symbol of her warmth and care, now stained and torn. My legs felt weak beneath me, and I collapsed onto the edge of the sofa, my hands trembling as I pressed them to my mouth to stifle a scream. The reality of the scene crashed over me like a relentless wave, dragging me into the depths of despair.
Memories of her laughter, her soft voice reading me bedtime stories, and the smell of her freshly baked cookies flooded my mind. I couldn't process the loss, the finality of it all. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I reached out for her, as if I could somehow bring her back with a touch.
"Millie!" I cried, the name tearing from my throat, filled with desperation. But there was no response, only the haunting silence that filled our home.
The door still hung open behind me, the night air rushing in, carrying with it the echoes of the world outside—unaware, indifferent to my shattered reality. I was utterly alone, standing amidst the remnants of a life that felt like it had been ripped away in an instant.
