Emma stood in the hallway with the frames pressed gently against her chest.
Each photo was a memory—her mother's soft smile, the birthday mornings, the garden tea times, the moments that no longer lived except in these frozen prints.
She quietly stepped into the living room. The afternoon sun was pouring through the wide glass, casting a warm glow across the empty wall. That was where she wanted them—right there, where light would kiss them daily, where her mother could be seen, remembered, honored.
But something in her hesitated.
She bit her bottom lip softly.
What if Zane doesn't like it?
They had been through so much in just one day. The shouting. The threats. The humiliation. And now peace… fragile and quiet like glass.
