Chapter 2: The Woman In Her Kitchen
Grace returned to the house because one thing was missing, and it mattered more than jewellery.
It was not jewellery, not clothes, and not the wedding photo lying in her car.
She needed the green document pouch from the study cabinet, the one Ethan never asked about.
Her grandmother had told her never to lose it, and Grace had listened.
Ethan had not, or worse, he had listened too well.
Sophie opened the door this time, still wearing Grace’s slippers like a private joke.
She also wore Grace’s white cardigan, loose over her shoulders like stolen skin.
“Ethan said you might come back,” Sophie said, blocking the doorway with a soft smile.
“He said not to let you make a scene.”
Grace looked at the cardigan. “Take that off.”
Sophie smiled. “You really do struggle to let go, don’t you?”
Grace stepped inside and saw the hallway had already changed.
Her family photographs were gone from the table beside the stairs.
A vase of white roses stood there instead, cold, expensive, and perfectly wrong.
Her knitted blanket had been pushed into a storage box near the sofa.
The wedding photo was missing from the wall above the console.
In its place was a cheap print of blue waves, the kind found in rented flats and waiting rooms.
It had taken Sophie less than a day to erase seven years.
Ethan stood in the kitchen, scrolling on his phone like a bored landlord.
He did not look up. “Be quick,” he said, as if she were late.
Grace walked toward the study, but Sophie blocked her path with one raised hand.
“You cannot just wander around Ethan’s house,” Sophie said, enjoying every word.
Grace looked at the hand, then at Ethan, who did not move.
“You are letting her speak to me like staff in my own home?”
Ethan finally looked up and sighed. “That is the problem.”
“You lived here so long that you confused comfort with ownership.”
Sophie laughed softly, and the sound filled the kitchen like smoke.
Grace did not answer. She walked around Sophie and entered the study.
The lower cabinet was open. The green pouch was gone.
So was the brass key from the top shelf, where Grace had left it.
Grace stood still, and her grandmother’s voice returned at once.
Never keep the only copy in the house, love.
When Grace returned to the kitchen, Ethan was watching her too carefully.
“You took it,” Grace said, and his thumb stopped moving on the screen.
“Took what?” he asked, too quickly.
“The pouch.”
He shrugged and said he had no idea where she put her clutter.
Sophie lifted Grace’s mug from the counter and took a slow sip.
“We are changing this kitchen anyway. Something brighter. This yellow feels old.”
Grace looked at the yellow walls she had painted during Ethan’s unemployed year.
He had said the colour made him feel less useless.
Now Sophie wanted brighter, and Ethan let her say it in Grace’s kitchen.
“Do whatever you like,” Grace said, and both of them looked surprised.
Ethan stepped closer. “Good. Then we agree you will leave quietly.”
Grace picked up a silver frame with her grandmother’s photo inside.
Sophie said, “Leave that. It suits the room.”
Grace looked at her. “No.”
Ethan said, “Your name is not on anything that matters.”
Outside, Grace found Oliver Grant’s card and called before fear could stop her.
“Mr Grant,” she said, “my husband has forgotten who owns my house.”