Chapter Fifty-Five - Willow

The house felt cold despite the heat of the summer. I inhaled the old smell of wood and worn furniture. The kitchen looked frozen in time. The pots and pans from the fight still sat around the kitchen. They had cleaned up the spaghetti Mom had cooked, and the blood, but besides that, it hadn’t been touched. I did not have the nerve to go into my old bedroom. Dad had stripped my clothing and all of my belongings from my room and moved them to the pack house almost instantly. There were too many memories in the house for us. Neither of us felt safe in it any longer. I stopped by the kitchen counter, bracing my palms behind me, I closed my eyes and let myself relax into the silence. Mom and I had spent so many days in the kitchen. Cooking together. Playing. The picture I’d drawn her was still stuck to the fridge, with yellow edges and it caused a hard lump in my throat. She didn’t deserve this. I pried my eyes open, and walked around the kitchen, my fingertips running along the cou