She shakes her head in amusement.
“Do you know if there’s a thermometer somewhere around here?”
She pauses, thinking. “I had one in my old bathroom. If no one cleared it out, it should still be there.”
She exits the kitchen, and without asking for permission, I follow her. After Emilio kicked me out of the library, I stopped exploring my new home, scared of what I’d find or Emilio finding me somewhere I shouldn’t be. I also told myself this wouldn’t be my home for long, so I didn’t need to grow attached to it.
But as I trail Maggie, I admire all the beauty of the parts I haven’t seen. The intricate details and family portraits still hung along the walls. The benches with books and coats. It was once lived in, not abandoned.
This is my home until I get the nerve to kill Emilio.
Maybe I should start making it feel more like it—brighten it up, bring its life back. It’d give me a distraction, something to do.
We turn a corner and walk down a dim corridor to a tucked-away wing that resembles a small apartment with a living room, kitchenette, and bedroom. Like the rest of the home—minus the kitchen and bedroom, since I helped Maggie clean those—it’s coated in dust.
“Is this where you stayed when you lived here?” I ask as she moves into the bedroom.
She flips on the light, and it flickers a few times before illuminating the room.
Her shoulders drop with a sigh as she slowly nods, taking in the room. “Nothing has changed,” she says, her voice tinged with sadness.
I linger in the doorway, unsure if I should step inside or let her have her space.
“It doesn’t surprise me,” she murmurs, almost to herself. “Emilio moved out the same day I did, and Nuncio never set foot in this room before. I doubt he did after. He didn’t love this home the way Evalina did.”
My chest aches at the pain in her voice.
I want to wrap her in my arms, hug her tight, and never let her go.
She sniffles, turning toward me. “I’ve lost so much. This is the one place I could’ve kept. Nuncio would’ve let me stay. But I couldn’t. I left and chose to be a lonely old woman instead.”
I step inside. “Do you have children, Maggie?”
She brushes her hand along the bed before sitting on the edge. “My son died when he was seven.”
My chest tightens more, and I cross the room to sit beside her. “Maggie, I’m so sorry.” I gently rest my hand over hers.
“He and my husband were in a car accident,” she says, voice shaking. She squeezes her eyes shut as a tear slips free. “Both families I loved were taken from me in the same way.” Her hand trembles beneath mine, and I squeeze it tight. “Evalina had taken me in when I had no one. She even paid for my family’s funerals.”
I slide my arm around her, pulling her into a hug.
We sit there, silent.
Tears fall down her cheeks as she looks around the room, memories spilling in from her past between these four walls.
“All right,” she says, patting the bed. “Let me go find that thermometer.”
Without meeting my eyes, she stands and quietly disappears into the bathroom.
This time, I don’t follow. I stay where I am.
A few minutes later, she returns, holding an old digital thermometer. “Still in the same drawer.”
I stand, hug her again, just because, and take the thermometer from her. We haven’t known each other long, but in the short time, she’s shown me more love than my mother ever has. Sadness rushes through me. She’s another person I’ll lose after I escape Emilio.
As we walk back to the kitchen, I make a decision—I’m going to restore this home.
Bring light back into it for Maggie.
