I Knew Her

Sydney

The inside of the cottage smells strongly of paint. I watch Sarah move through the first two rooms anyway, keeping out of her way and staying in the snug hallway right off the front door where a small kitchen sits on one side and the living room on the other. Sarah moves lightly from room to room, opening doors and closing them again.

Her face is unreadable, blank, and those eyes are a stunning pale lavender, which is my only hint that she's happy.

I watch her closely, unable to stop myself from noticing the way her fingertips graze over the worn, faded wallpaper in the bathroom at the very end of the hall, like she’s marking each swipe of color and texture with her touch.

I might have overstepped. Her expression cracks, her eyes going dark and watery, and she looks over her shoulder at me.

“Are you sure about this?” She tucks her hands in the pockets of her jacket, my jacket, which brushes her ankles and hangs off her slim shoulders.

“I am.”

“Why?”

That word holds so much