When Claire agrees to clean a reclusive woman’s neglected home, she expects dirt and clutter — but not the eerie feeling of a house frozen in time. As she sorts through the piled-up mess, she finds a stack of birthday cards that leads her to a heartbreaking revelation.
My phone buzzed as I packed my cleaning caddy. Another day, another home that needed cleaning.
A cell phone in someone’s back pocket | Source: Pexels
“Clean Slate Services, this is Claire,” I answered, wedging the phone between my ear and shoulder as I checked my supply of microfiber cloths.
“Hello?” The voice was elderly and tentative. “My name is Margaret. My daughter suggested I contact you. She said you post videos online about helping people clean their homes?”
I smiled, thinking of the before-and-after videos that had become surprisingly popular.
A woman in a store room speaking on her phone | Source: Midjourney
My small cleaning business may not have been setting the world on fire, but scrubbing suburban floors and dusting small offices served a greater purpose. Those jobs allowed me to offer free cleaning services to people in need.
“That’s me,” I replied to Margaret. “How can I help?”
“It’s not for me.” Her voice dropped to a near-whisper. “It’s my neighbor, Eleanor. She needs help. She won’t ask for it, but she needs it.”
Something in her tone made me stop what I was doing.
A concerned woman speaking on her cell phone | Source: Midjourney
I’d heard this kind of concern before — the worry that comes when someone watches another person slowly disappear.
“Tell me about Eleanor,” I said, sitting down on a nearby stool.
Margaret sighed. “Her yard is completely overgrown now. There are newspapers piling up on her porch that she never brings in. I tried checking on her last week and she barely opened the door, but when she did…” Margaret paused. “There was a bad smell. And what I could see behind her… it wasn’t good.”
A woman using her cell phone | Source: Midjourney
My stomach tightened. I knew what that meant.
“It wasn’t always like this,” Margaret continued. “She used to be out in her garden all the time. Her roses won ribbons at the county fair. Then, one day… she just stopped. She’s a good person, Claire. I just… something’s terribly wrong.”
I hesitated for only a moment. These calls never came at convenient times, but that was the nature of crises.
A worried-looking woman in a supply room | Source: Midjourney
“I’ll be there in an hour,” I promised. “What’s the address?”
After hanging up, I texted Ryan, my husband and business partner: Emergency clean-up. Not sure how bad yet. May need backup.
His response came immediately: On standby. Let me know.
I grabbed my “first assessment” kit — gloves, mask, basic cleaning supplies, and a change of clothes. Experience had taught me to always be prepared for the worst.
A variety of cleaning supplies | Source: Pexels
Eleanor’s house was a modest one-story with faded blue siding. The lawn had transformed into a meadow and dead flowers hung in forgotten window boxes. The mailbox listed to one side, stuffed with envelopes.
I knocked and waited. Nothing. I knocked again, louder.
Finally, I heard shuffling footsteps. The door opened just an inch, revealing a sliver of a woman’s face.
A woman peeking through a slightly open door | Source: Midjourney
She was pale, with unkempt hair and tired eyes that widened at the sight of my company polo shirt.
“I don’t need a cleaning service,” she muttered, already starting to close the door.
“I’m not here to sell anything,” I said quickly, keeping my tone gentle. “Margaret asked me to come. She’s worried about you. She thought you might need help.”
Eleanor’s jaw set in a hard line. “I can handle it myself.”
A woman speaking harshly | Source: Midjourney
I took a slow breath. I recognized this tone. This kind of resistance was not pride, but shame. It was the same way my mother used to react when concerned neighbors or teachers would ask about the piles of boxes filling our house.
“My mom used to say the same thing. ‘I can handle it.’ But sometimes, handling it means letting someone help,” I said softly. “I know what it’s like, Eleanor, how it all builds up. That’s why I started my cleaning business, so I could clean homes for free for people who need a fresh start.”
A woman on a porch speaking to someone | Source: Midjourney
“A fresh start…” Eleanor sighed the words as though she barely dared to believe them.
For the first time, her eyes flicked up to meet mine. Something flickered there — hope, maybe. Or simply exhaustion. There was a long pause where I could almost see her weighing her options. Then her face crumpled.
“I don’t even know where to start,” she whispered.
A woman whispering sadly | Source: Midjourney
“You don’t have to,” I assured her. “That’s why I’m here. Maybe you could spend the day with Margaret while I work? It might be easier that way.”
Eleanor hesitated, chewing on her lower lip. Finally, she nodded. “Let me get my purse.”
She disappeared behind the door for a moment. When she emerged, she was wearing a cardigan that had seen better days and carrying a worn leather handbag. I noticed how she kept her eyes down, avoiding looking at her front yard.
Withered plants near a fence in a neglected yard | Source: Pexels
We walked together to Margaret’s house next door. Eleanor moved cautiously, like each step required calculation. Her shoulders hunched forward slightly, as if she was carrying something heavy.
Margaret answered her door with surprise that quickly melted into joy.
“Eleanor! Oh, it’s so good to see you out,” she exclaimed. “Come in, come in. I just made a fresh pot of tea.”
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
Eleanor managed a small smile as she stepped inside. “Thank you, Margaret.”
Margaret caught my eye over Eleanor’s shoulder and mouthed a silent “thank you.” I nodded and headed back to Eleanor’s house, already pulling out my phone.
“Ryan? I need you to bring the industrial garbage bags. And maybe a respirator.”
A concerned woman on a phone call | Source: Midjourney
Ryan arrived 30 minutes later, a box of our heavy-duty cleaning supplies in his arms. He took one look inside the house and exhaled sharply.
“She’s been living like this?” he asked, his voice muffled by the mask he’d already put on.
I nodded. “For years, I’d guess.”
The house wasn’t packed floor to ceiling with junk, but it was suffocating. Dishes with dried food crusted onto them formed precarious towers in the sink. Mold crept along the baseboards.
Dirty dishes in a sink | Source: Pexels
The air was stagnant, heavy with the smell of neglect.
I pulled on my gloves and mask. “Focus on bagging up the obvious trash in the living room and kitchen, please — rotting takeout containers, empty packaging, bottles. I’ll start in the bedrooms.”
Ryan nodded, already opening a trash bag. “Got it. I’ll leave the sorting to you.”
I moved carefully across the living room, noting the layer of dust on the television screen.
A dirty and untidy living room | Source: Midjourney
The master bedroom was in similar disarray. There were clothes piled on chairs and a bed that hadn’t been made in what looked like months. Prescription bottles for anti-depressants and sleep aids were nestled among the junk on the nightstand.
The labels were all for Eleanor. Anti-depressants. Sleep aids. Another familiar sign.
But it was the second bedroom that stopped me cold.
A bedroom door | Source: Pexels
I pushed open the door and immediately felt like I’d stepped into a different house.
Dust floated in the air, catching in the slant of light from a single, grime-streaked window. Cobwebs dangled everywhere, like drapes. The lack of trash in here made it feel abandoned in a way that sent shivers down my spine.
A twin bed sat against one wall, covered with dust. A model solar system hung from the ceiling, also brown with dust, the planets tilting at odd angles from years of stillness.
A model solar system hanging from a ceiling | Source: Midjourney
A dresser stood against the far wall. Inside, I found children’s clothes, neatly folded. T-shirts small enough for a nine or ten-year-old. Superhero pajamas. School uniforms.
I exhaled slowly. This room wasn’t a storage space. It was a memorial.
I carefully closed the drawer and left the room exactly as I’d found it. I’d dust it later, but for now, there were bigger problems.
A woman in a doorway | Source: Midjourney
As I cleaned the house, I unearthed framed photographs on a dusty bookshelf. A young boy with dark curls grinned at the camera. In another, the same boy sat on a man’s shoulders, both of them laughing.
But as I found more photos, something gnawed at me. There were no pictures of the boy past the age of ten, or so. All the clothes I’d found earlier were for a child around that age.
In the master bedroom, I found a small stack of birthday cards addressed to “Michael” tucked inside a nightstand drawer.
Trash and junk on a nightstand | Source: Gemini
There were cards for every birthday from his first to his 13th. The text in the 13th birthday card was shaky, mostly illegible handwriting. All I could make out was “…would’ve been 13 today.”
Would’ve been? A heavy feeling settled over my heart as I began putting the pieces together. There was always a reason people lost control over the state of their homes, and I suspected this child was part of Eleanor’s reason.
By early afternoon, Ryan and I had made considerable progress. We’d cleared most of the floors and built a mountain of trash bags on the curb.
Trash bags on a sidewalk | Source: Midjourney
The kitchen countertops were visible now, and the sink sparkled. The living room had been vacuumed, the surfaces dusted and disinfected.
“I’ll start on the bathroom,” Ryan said, filling a bucket with hot water and bleach.
I nodded. “I’ll finish up in here.”
As I opened a kitchen drawer looking for stray utensils, I found a folded newspaper, yellowed at the edges. I almost threw it out, but then a name caught my eye: Eleanor.
A folded newspaper | Source: Pexels
My breath stilled as I scanned the headline: “Local Father Dies in High-Speed Crash En Route to Hospital.”
According to the article, James had been speeding to get to County General when he lost control of his vehicle. His ten-year-old son, Michael, had been rushed to the same hospital hours earlier by Eleanor, his mother, and James’s wife.
James never made it to see his son.
A woman holding a newspaper | Source: Midjourney
I closed my eyes, absorbing the weight of it. He’d been rushing to see his sick son, and then he was gone. The article didn’t mention what had happened to Michael, but the birthday cards and the second bedroom suggested she’d lost him, too.
No wonder it had all gotten too much for Eleanor.
I wiped my hands on my jeans and headed to Margaret’s house. I needed to speak to Eleanor.
A sad and determined woman’s face | Source: Midjourney
Eleanor was still at Margaret’s kitchen table, hands curled around a now-cold mug of tea. She looked up as I entered, her eyes questioning.
I sat across from her, placing the folded newspaper on the table.
“I found this,” I said quietly.
Eleanor didn’t move. Her eyes fixed on the paper but then shifted away.
“I should have thrown that away years ago,” she whispered.
A woman’s face in shadow | Source: Pexels
“But you didn’t.” My voice was gentle. Not accusatory, just observing.
The silence stretched between us. Margaret stood by the sink, her hands clutched together.
“Michael developed severe asthma when he was four,” Eleanor finally said, her voice flat, as if she’d told this story so many times in her head that the words had lost their power. “We managed it for years, but…” Her voice wobbled.
A woman at a kitchen table | Source: Midjourney
“Michael’s condition worsened suddenly. I had to rush him to the hospital one day. I called James and he… he was driving too fast.”
Her breath shuddered.
“He never made it. And Michael… a week later, he was gone, too.”
A hard lump settled in my throat. To lose both of them so close together…
I reached across the table and placed my hand over Eleanor’s. “The room. You kept it exactly the same.”
A woman’s hand | Source: Pexels
Eleanor nodded, a tear slipping down her cheek. “At first, it felt wrong to change anything. Then, as time passed, it felt wrong to even go in there. So I just… closed the door.”
“And the birthday cards?” I asked softly.
“I couldn’t help myself.” She wiped at her eyes with her free hand. “For three years afterward, I bought my son a birthday card. I wrote him a message I wished he could read. I thought I was just working through my grief, but it became more painful instead of less. It was silly.”
A woman in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“No,” Margaret said firmly, coming to sit beside Eleanor. “It’s not silly at all. It’s love.”
Eleanor broke then, her shoulders shaking with years of bottled grief. Margaret moved her chair closer, putting an arm around her.
“It wasn’t just Michael and James,” Eleanor managed between sobs. “It was me, too. Part of me died with them. And I just… I couldn’t keep up with everything. The house, the yard… it all seemed so pointless, so exhausting.”
A sad woman in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“Grief can swallow you whole,” I said quietly. “My mom went through something similar after my dad left. Not the same, but… things piled up. Literally.”
Eleanor looked at me with red-rimmed eyes. “How did she get past it?”
“She didn’t, not really. Not on her own.” I squeezed her hand. “I helped where I could, but we both needed more than that. Eventually, she got therapy. Made some friends at a support group. It wasn’t a straight line to better.”
A woman looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
Margaret stroked Eleanor’s back gently. “You don’t have to be alone in this anymore.”
Eleanor wiped her eyes again. “The house… is it awful?”
“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” I assured her. “I called in back up and we’ve made good progress. Would you like to see?”
Eleanor nodded. Moments later, she stood hesitantly in the doorway of her home.
A front door and porch | Source: Pexels
Ryan stood aside, a nervous half-smile on his face.
“We’re not totally finished,” he explained. “But it’s getting there.”
Eleanor stepped inside slowly. The living room was transformed — floors cleaned, surfaces dusted, clutter removed.
She moved through the space as if in a dream, touching things, testing their reality. When she reached the closed door of the second bedroom, she froze.
A woman looking anxious | Source: Pexels
“We didn’t touch that room,” I said quickly. “I wanted to ask first.”
Eleanor nodded but didn’t open the door.
“Thank you.” She turned to face us. “Thank you both.”
Her eyes filled with tears again, but these seemed different. Relief, maybe. Or the first hint of something like peace.
“We’ll come back tomorrow to finish up, if that’s okay,” I offered. “The bathroom needs more work, and there’s still the yard…”
“Yes,” Eleanor said, and for the first time, I saw the shadow of a smile on her face. “That would be… yes.”
A woman smiling faintly | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, Eleanor was ready when we arrived. She had put on a clean blouse and combed her hair.
“Margaret invited me over for breakfast,” she told us. “And then we might look at some plants for the garden. If that’s all right?”
“That sounds perfect,” I said.
While Ryan tackled the overgrown yard with our garden tools, I finished the bathroom and laundry room. By mid-afternoon, the house was transformed. Not perfect, but livable. Clean. Fresh.
A clean and tidy home | Source: Pexels
When Eleanor returned, Margaret was with her, carrying a small tray of potted herbs.
“For the kitchen window,” Margaret explained.
Eleanor surveyed her house, her yard, her life — all visible now, all accessible again.
“I don’t know how to thank you,” she said.
“You don’t have to,” I replied.
As Ryan and I packed up our supplies, I watched Eleanor and Margaret at the kitchen table, drinking coffee. Something had shifted in Eleanor, like a door had opened, letting in light.
Coffee mugs on a table | Source: Pexels
I thought about my mother, about how hard it had been for her to accept help when her mental health started to deteriorate. She was the reason I’d started doing these free cleans in the first place, so nobody would have to suffer the same way.
Ryan caught my eye and smiled. “Another successful clean slate?”
I nodded, watching the two older women through the window as we walked to our van. “The cleanest.”
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
O ex do meu namorado invadiu nosso encontro para nos convidar para jantar, mas o verdadeiro choque veio depois – História do dia
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
Virei-me, e lá estava ele. Seth. Eu não via o irmão de Joanna há anos, mas, nossa, o tempo tinha sido gentil. Ele sorriu, e foi um daqueles sorrisos que fazem você esquecer como as palavras funcionam.
“Ei”, disse Seth, com a voz relaxada, como se ele não tivesse jogado toda a minha sensação de paz pela janela.
“Oi”, consegui dizer.
Muito suave, Olivia.
“Joanna disse que você ficaria.” Ele passou a mão pelo cabelo. “Espero não estar interrompendo.”
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
Joanna lançou-lhe um olhar. “Ela não está aqui para ser incomodada, Seth.”
“Quem disse que eu estava incomodando?” Seth levantou as mãos em sinal de rendição, mas havia um brilho em seus olhos.
“Estou bem”, eu disse abruptamente, me sentindo como uma adolescente novamente. “Sério. Não estou incomodada.”
“Tudo bem, vejo você por aí.”
Enquanto ele se afastava, Joanna me deu uma cotovelada. “Ele é solteiro, sabia?”
Eu gemi. “Ah, não, não vamos fazer isso.”
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
Ela riu, servindo-me outra taça de vinho. “Só mantenha a mente aberta. É tudo o que estou dizendo.”
Olhei para a porta onde Seth tinha acabado de desaparecer. Meu coração deu uma cambalhota estranha.
“Vim aqui para escapar, não para… complicar as coisas.”
“As complicações tornam a vida interessante”, cantou Joanna.
Levantei meu copo. “Espero que você esteja errado.”
Mas, no fundo, eu sabia que ela não era.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
***
Os primeiros dias foram relaxantes. Costumávamos sentar do lado de fora à noite, nós três apenas conversando sobre a vida, rindo de memórias bobas, e eu me peguei curtindo a simplicidade de tudo isso.
Seth não se esforçou muito para ser charmoso. Ele era apenas… ele mesmo. Descontraído, calmo, sempre salpicando um “você sabe” sempre que falava, o que eu achei estranhamente reconfortante.
Notei que ele era próximo de Joanna. Eles tinham esse vínculo natural de irmãos, provocando um ao outro sobre pequenas coisas, mas havia muito cuidado entre eles.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
Uma noite, depois que terminamos de jantar, Seth recostou-se na cadeira e olhou para mim.
“Ei, o que você acha de irmos jantar amanhã? Só você e eu?”
Pisquei, pego de surpresa. “Jantar? Amanhã?”
“É, pensei que estávamos aqui, por que não sair para variar?”
Olhei para Joanna, que levantou uma sobrancelha, mas não disse nada, claramente divertida com a oferta repentina do irmão.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
“Uh, sim. Claro, por que não?” Eu finalmente respondi, me sentindo um pouco fora de mim.
“Ótimo,” Seth disse, levantando-se como se tivesse acabado de sugerir que tomássemos um café, não um encontro. “Vou te buscar às sete.”
Enquanto ele se afastava, olhei para Joanna, que estava sorrindo.
“O quê?”, perguntei, sentindo minhas bochechas esquentarem.
“Nada,” ela disse, ainda sorrindo. “Só… Seth não chama as pessoas para sair. Isso é novo.”
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
Franzi a testa. “Isso é para me fazer sentir melhor?”
Ela riu, balançando a cabeça.
“Relaxa, Liv. Ele gosta de você. Isso é uma coisa boa.”
“Talvez”, murmurei, mas enquanto estava sentado ali, não pude deixar de me perguntar se eu tinha acabado de concordar com algo que poderia ser muito mais complicado do que eu estava preparado.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
***
Estávamos sentados no restaurante e, a princípio, tudo parecia perfeito. A comida era ótima, o ambiente era aconchegante e Seth estava com seu jeito descontraído de sempre.
Nós rimos e conversamos sobre tudo e nada, e comecei a me sentir um pouco mais confortável perto dele. Mas então, seu telefone tocou.
Ele ignorou no começo, mas ele zumbiu de novo. E de novo.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
“Desculpe, já volto”, ele disse, levantando-se e indo para fora.
O que é tão importante que não pode esperar?
Tentei aproveitar minha refeição, mas meus olhos continuavam se voltando para a porta. Quando ele voltou, sorriu como se nada tivesse acontecido.
“Está tudo bem?”
“Sim, só algumas coisas de trabalho”, ele disse casualmente.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
Mas então aconteceu de novo. Na metade da nossa sobremesa, seu telefone tocou e, mais uma vez, ele se desculpou.
Naquela hora, eu não conseguia ficar parada. Levantei-me, seguindo-o silenciosamente para fora. Vi Seth parado com outra mulher, em uma conversa profunda.
Quem é ela?
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
Eles me notaram. Seth pareceu assustado.
“Oh, Olivia, esta é Lauren.” Ele fez uma pausa.
“Minha ex-esposa.”
Eu não sabia o que dizer. Lauren sorriu, agindo de forma amigável.
“Por que vocês dois não vêm jantar amanhã?” ela disse.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Pexels
Antes que eu pudesse sequer pensar em recusar, Seth… concordou! Mais tarde, ele tentou me tranquilizar.
“Não é nada. Já acabou há muito tempo. O jantar parece bom”, disse Seth, seu sorriso calmo e reconfortante.
Fiquei surpreso!
Jantar com a ex? Sério?
Mas eu não tinha uma razão sólida para dizer não. Ele parecia tão casual sobre isso como se não fosse grande coisa, e eu não queria parecer insegura ou ciumenta.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
***
O jantar com Seth e Lauren foi desconfortável desde o começo. Lauren não perdeu tempo em se sentir em casa, sentando-se muito perto de Seth para o meu gosto.
“Então, lembra quando fizemos aquela viagem para a praia?” Lauren começou, sua voz pingando nostalgia. “Nós éramos um casal tão perfeito naquela época. Todo mundo achava que duraríamos para sempre.”
Ela riu, inclinando-se para mais perto de Seth. Eu me mexi no assento, tentando manter a calma.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
Ela estava tentando me irritar, e eu não queria deixar que ela conseguisse. Seth mal respondeu, dando respostas curtas e educadas.
“Sim, isso foi há muito tempo”, ele disse, parecendo quase entediado.
Mas eu não aguentava mais. Empurrei minha cadeira para trás e me levantei.
“Vou tomar um pouco de ar fresco”, murmurei, sem esperar por uma resposta.
O que eu estou fazendo aqui?
Lá fora, o ar frio da noite ajudou um pouco. Tudo parecia tão complicado, e eu não sabia como lidar com isso.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
De repente, uma pequena voz interrompeu meus pensamentos.
“Você está aqui com meu pai?”
Virei-me e vi uma garotinha, seus olhos sonolentos enquanto ela os esfregava. Meu coração parou.
Papai?
Isso me atingiu como uma tonelada de tijolos. Seth tinha uma filha.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
“Ah… hum, sim, estou aqui com seu pai.”
A menina olhou para mim, sua inocência era desarmante.
“Vamos encontrá-lo.”
“Claro, querida. Vamos encontrá-lo.”
Quando a levei para Seth, ele imediatamente a pegou no colo.
“Ei, abóbora. Hora de dormir?”
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
Ele sorriu para ela de um jeito que eu não tinha visto a noite toda.
“Já volto”, ele me disse, carregando-a para colocá-la na cama.
Ele tem uma filha? Como eu não sabia disso?
Quando Seth saiu, Lauren não perdeu tempo em fazer sua jogada. Ela se aproximou de mim.
“Você não pertence a este lugar, sabia?”
Pisquei, atordoado. “Com licença?”
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
“Seth e eu… temos história. E uma família. Ele sempre volta para nós. Isso é só uma fase. Você deveria ir embora antes que se machuque.”
Família? Isso é demais.
Senti o pânico crescer no meu peito.
Sem mais uma palavra, peguei minhas coisas e fui em direção à porta. Eu precisava sair antes que me perdesse completamente.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
***
A luz da manhã filtrava-se pelas cortinas enquanto eu fechava o zíper da minha mala, olhando para o meu telefone novamente. Nenhuma mensagem. Nenhuma ligação. O silêncio era esmagador.
Joanna entrou. “Você realmente vai embora?”
Suspirei, sentando na cama. “Não posso ficar, Jo. Ele nem estendeu a mão. Sinto como se estivesse metida em algo além da minha cabeça.”
Ao meio-dia, minha passagem já estava reservada.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
***
Na metade do caminho para o aeroporto, enquanto eu olhava pela janela, perdido em meus pensamentos, vi um carro acelerando ao nosso lado.
Não, não pode ser!
Apertei os olhos para ver melhor e vi Seth. Ele estava dirigindo rápido como se estivesse em uma missão.
O que ele está fazendo aqui? Para dizer adeus? Ou para me impedir?
Não consegui perceber, mas uma parte de mim ficou grata por ele ter aparecido.
O taxista olhou para mim pelo espelho retrovisor. “Você o conhece?”
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
“Sim, eu… eu acho que sim.”
Seth parou, estacionando na frente do táxi. Ele chegou à janela, olhando para mim com aquela calma familiar.
“Olívia, espera.”
Abaixei a janela. “O que você está fazendo aqui, Seth?”
“Eu não podia deixar você ir embora assim. Preciso que você saiba a verdade. E eu não te contei porque… Eu não queria te arrastar para a minha confusão. Mas eu deveria ter feito isso. Você merece saber de tudo.”
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
Fiquei ali sentado, sem palavras. Ele desviou o olhar por um momento, depois voltou a me encarar.
“Olivia, eu me apaixonei por você. Eu sei que é complicado, e eu sei que tenho bagagem. Mas eu preciso que você fique. Eu quero que você conheça meus filhos, para ver o meu verdadeiro eu.”
Eu me senti dividida entre a segurança de partir e a inegável atração de ficar. Mas meu coração sabia a resposta antes da minha mente. Rasguei a passagem aérea, sabendo que às vezes os maiores riscos levam aos resultados mais lindos.
Apenas para fins ilustrativos | Fonte: Midjourney
Diga-nos o que você acha dessa história e compartilhe com seus amigos. Pode inspirá-los e alegrar o dia deles.
Se você gostou desta história, leia esta: Jared, o namorado controlador da minha melhor amiga, estava querendo me arruinar. Ele fechou meu amado clube do livro e colocou meu emprego em risco. Mas, enquanto eu lutava, descobri algo sobre ele que poderia mudar tudo o que eu achava que sabia. Leia a história completa aqui .
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