At that moment, the house was quiet.
Stella's brother was seated inside the living room, slouched slightly on the leather couch, scrolling through his phone with one hand while the other rested lazily on the armrest. Directly opposite him, their father sat stiffly with a cup of tea in his hand, eyes distant and jaw tight, as if he had been thinking deeply for the past hour.
The soft creak of the front door made both of them turn slightly.
Then… she walked in, Stella.
Her face was wrapped in fresh white bandages. One covered the side of her jaw, and another went around her forehead. She was dressed in loose clothes, and her hands trembled as if her bones had forgotten how to be steady. Her steps were slow, uneven. Every movement screamed pain. Her breath sounded shaky like someone who had to force herself to get there.
And yet… she came, she didn't wait for anyone to speak. She just walked in like a ghost of herself.
