The Doors She Left Open
Claire had built this house for a new beginning. Clean lines, open spaces, and walls made of glass—nothing to hide, nothing to trap her like before. The past belonged to a world of heavy doors and locked windows. Here, everything was meant to be open.
But tonight, as the sky darkened and the soft glow of the house spilled into the yard, she felt it. The presence.
The doors were still open. The ones she had shut before leaving for the day.
She stepped inside, her breath steady but her heart racing. The scent of jasmine—her mother’s perfume—clung to the air. Impossible. Her mother had died before Claire ever moved in.
A whisper brushed past her ear.
“You can’t erase a past that refuses to stay locked away.”
The doors creaked behind her. This time, they were closing. And she wasn’t the one shutting them.
