HOPE
I glance down, surprised to find my fingers gripping the edge of the couch so tightly that my knuckles have turned bone-white.
Trying to recover, I offer a weak smile. "I like what you've done with the place." The words feel like a cliché, slipping out before I can stop them. My eyes scan the sleek interior. "Although… there aren't any photos."
No family portraits, no vacation snapshots, not even a stray Polaroid stuck to the fridge. The whole room feels more like a showroom than a home.
Or else he's like me—got all my stuff burnt down by the fire. I have no idea why he doesn't have a photo of anything.
Well… maybe that's not his style.
Jeremy barely looks up as he pours the last of his whiskey. "Why would I need photos?"
I blink, unsure if he's being sarcastic or genuinely confused. With him, it's hard to tell.
"To remember things?" I say slowly, like I'm explaining birthdays to a toddler. "People. Places. Moments. To connect with your family more."
