The House That Waited
The letter arrived on a cold, unforgiving morning. A single sheet of paper. Four words.
“Your father has died.”
Leila hadn’t spoken to him in over a decade. Not since the night she packed her bags, slammed the door, and vowed never to return. But now, standing on the overgrown path leading to the only home she had ever feared yet secretly longed for, she felt the weight of unfinished stories pressing against her chest.
The house stood at the edge of the world, suspended above restless waves. Time had not claimed it, though the salt air had gnawed at its bones. A single shipping container, transformed into a sanctuary—built by the man she had spent her whole life running from.
She stepped onto the wooden deck, her footsteps light, hesitant. The sea whispered beneath her, rising and falling like the breath of something ancient. And there, on the rusted metal door, was a message. Scrawled in the only handwriting that could still send a shiver through her spine.
“I always knew you’d come back.”
The wind carried her gasp into the ocean.
And for the first time in years, she wasn’t sure if she had been running toward something… or away from it.
