Page 38 of Shattered Melodies

It looked the same, and yet somehow different. The paint was peeling, the shutters hanging crooked. The lawn was overgrown, the flowerbeds choked with weeds.

I could see that the house needed work, needed more than just a fresh coat of paint and some new landscaping. The roof sagged in places, the porch steps were rotting, and the windows were cloudy with grime.

But beneath the surface, beneath the neglect and the decay it was still the same house from when we left it.

I sat there for a long moment, staring at the darkened windows and the sagging porch. Trying to summon the courage to get out of the car, to take that first step into the past.

I grabbed my bags from the trunk, the weight of them grounding me, anchoring me to the present. And then I walked up the cracked and crumbling path, my heart pounding and my mind racing.

I unlocked the door with shaking hands, the key sticking in the rusty lock. And then I stepped inside, the musty smell of neglect and abandonment hitting me like a physical blow. I flicked on the lights, the dim bulbs casting eerie shadows on the walls. Everything was just as I remembered it, just as I had left it all those years ago.

The furniture, the knick-knacks, the faded photographs on the mantel. It was like stepping into a time capsule, like being transported back to a life that felt like someone else’s dream.

But as I looked closer, I could see the signs of age and decay. The wallpaper was peeling, the floorboards were warped and creaky. The furniture was covered in a thick layer of dust, the fabric faded and worn.

I knew it would take more than just a little elbow grease to make this place livable again. It would need new plumbing, new wiring, maybe even a new foundation.

But I wasn’t daunted by the task ahead. If anything, I felt a flicker of excitement, a spark of possibility. Because this house, this project it was a chance to start over. To build something new from the ashes of the old, to create a space that was truly mine.

I wandered through the rooms, my footsteps echoing in the silence. The kitchen, where my mother had once baked cookies and sung along to the radio. The living room, where my father had dozed in his recliner, the TV droning in the background.

The hallway, lined with pictures of a family that no longer existed. Of a boy with bright eyes and a brighter smile, a boy who had no idea of the heartache and the darkness that lay ahead.

All of these items were still here after all these years. I didn’t know how but it was a nice surprise.

I paused in front of one photograph in particular, my throat tightening with emotion. It was from my high school graduation, my parents beaming with pride on either side of me. I looked so young, so innocent. So full of hope and promise and naive, foolish dreams.

After checking everything was still in order, I climbed the stairs to my old bedroom.

It was exactly as I had left it, the posters on the walls and the trophies on the shelves. The twin bed with its faded blue comforter, the desk with its scattered papers and forgotten dreams.

I dropped my bags on the floor, the thud of them loud in the stillness. And then I collapsed onto the bed, the springs creaking beneath my weight.

CHAPTER 12

Old Acquaintances

CALEB

It had been a couple of days since I’d noticed the trucks heading towards Liam’s old house, and I couldn’t shake the sense of unease that had settled over me like a heavy blanket.

I mean, it wasn’t like I had any claim to the place. It had been abandoned for years, ever since Liam and his family had packed up and left town without so much as a goodbye.

But still, seeing signs of life returning to that old house, knowing that someone new was moving in and making it their own…

It felt wrong, somehow. Like a violation of the memories that still haunted those halls, the ghosts of the past that still lingered in every corner and crevice.

I sighed, taking another sip of my coffee and trying to push the thoughts away. It wasn’t my problem, wasn’t my business. Whoever had bought the place, they had every right to do whatever they wanted with it.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

I looked up, startled out of my reverie by my mother’s voice. She was standing in the doorway, her own mug of coffee in hand and a knowing look on her face.

I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just thinking about the day ahead. Got a lot of work to do on the ranch.”

She raised an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. “Uh-huh. And I suppose those trucks heading up to the old Denison place have nothing to do with your brooding?”

I felt my cheeks heat up, caught out. My mother had always been able to read me like a book, even when I was trying my damnedest to keep my feelings locked down tight.

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