Anna Edgewood

The morning light streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. As I sat by the window, lost in my thoughts, the door creaked open, and in walked my grandmother, Mrs. Edgewood. Her presence filled the room with a sense of calm and reassurance that I had longed for. She looked at me with eyes that radiated both concern and love, eyes that had seen so much yet still held a softness for me.

“Come, let’s have breakfast,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “There is a lot you need to know, and we need to start making some adjustments.”

I could tell how much she wanted to be with me, how much she wanted to bridge the years we had lost. The way she looked at me, with that blend of affection and determination, made me feel something I hadn’t felt in a long time—safe.

As we walked down the grand staircase, the marble floors beneath our feet seemed to speak of the richness and age of the Edgewood estate. Every step echoed the legacy I had unknowingly become a part of. I co