Holding on
Her hands tightened in her lap, and Lilly saw both love and grief etched into her expression. “This place was more than walls or beams,” Rosemary whispered. “It was my father’s spirit, lingering in every corner. I couldn’t bring myself to leave. Each room echoed with his laughter, every object carried his touch. Staying here was my way of holding on, of pretending the world outside couldn’t take him from me.”
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