Y/n stepped back, wiping a streak of dust from her forehead with the back of her wrist.

The late afternoon light poured through the tall windows of the Victorian, casting long gold rectangles across the hardwood floors. Boxes had been broken down and stacked near the door. The smell of fresh paint still lingered, mixing with the old wood and the faint sweetness of the peonies she’d arranged on the mantel that morning.

Below it, one more line.