Starting over isn’t easy. I had just enrolled at a university far from home, juggling my studies with waitressing and worrying constantly about my younger brother, who was staying with our aunt. The weight of responsibility made life overwhelming—and I needed a place to stay that wouldn’t add to the stress.
So when I saw an ad for a cozy room at a very reasonable price, I felt like I’d found a small miracle. The photos showed an old-fashioned home with charming floral wallpaper, and the description said it was ideal for a quiet, respectful tenant. When I arrived, Mrs. Wilkins greeted me with a kind smile and the scent of lavender in the air. She seemed like the picture of grandmotherly warmth.
“You must be Rachel,” she said, ushering me inside. “You’re just lovely—come in, dear.”
She asked about my family over a bowl of warm vegetable soup she’d made. I told her about Tommy, my younger brother, and how I hoped to one day bring him closer to me. She nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful.
The house was peaceful, almost like something out of a storybook. Still, I couldn’t shake the odd feeling that her friendliness held something… formal. Like she wanted things a certain way, and only that way.
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