A new start

Emily sat slouched in her airplane seat, exhaustion gnawing at her every nerve. The low hum of the engines should have been a lullaby, but her mind refused to shut down. She adjusted the flimsy airline blanket around her shoulders and gazed out of the window, where clouds blurred into endless gray. The weight of her impulsive decision still lingered, twisting her stomach into knots.

David.

His name hung in her mind like a ghost she couldn't shake off. The memory of his touch, the warmth of his arms around her—it all lingered in vivid detail. It wasn't just about the physical connection, though it had been electric. It was the way he made her feel, like she was alive and seen in a way she hadn't felt in a long time.

Emily exhaled sharply, shaking her head. Stop it. There was no point dwelling on it. It wasn't like she could undo what had happened—or wanted to, for that matter. The truth was, part of her liked the recklessness of it all. She didn't want to regret it. Life was messy, and so was she.

Hours later, the captain's voice crackled through the speakers, announcing their descent into Wintrell. Emily tightened her seatbelt, her stomach flipping—not from turbulence, but from the reality of what she'd done. She hadn't even told Aunt Clarice she was coming. What the hell was she supposed to say? That she was running away from her life because she fucked up?

The plane landed with a soft thud, and Emily's stomach lurched. She grabbed her carry-on, her movements automatic, and followed the flow of passengers toward the terminal. The airport was alive with motion—families reuniting, businesspeople rushing to their next connection—but Emily moved through it like a ghost, unnoticed and unbothered.

Outside, the city air felt crisp and foreign, the kind of freshness that could only come from being miles away from everything she knew. She spotted a line of taxis and approached the nearest one, her suitcase trailing behind her.

"Where to?" the driver asked, his tone curt but not unkind.

She gave him the address of her aunt Clarice's house, sinking into the back seat as the cab pulled away from the curb.

The ride through Wintrell was quiet. The streets felt calmer than the ones she'd left behind, the buildings less imposing. There was a softness here that Emily hadn't realized she needed. She leaned her head against the window, watching the scenery blur past.

Her mind drifted back to David again, unbidden. She could still feel his fingertips grazing her skin, his voice low and teasing in her ear. It wasn't just lust. It was something deeper, something that scared her.

The taxi slowed, and Emily blinked, realizing they had arrived. Her aunt's house stood at the end of a quiet street, its white picket fence and well-kept garden almost too quaint to be real. She stepped out, paying the driver and dragging her suitcase up the short path.

Before she could knock, the door swung open, and there stood Aunt Clarice, her expression a mix of surprise and concern.

"Emily? What are you doing here?"

Emily offered a small smile, brushing past her into the house. "Thought I'd surprise you."

"Surprise is one word for it," Clarice said, closing the door behind her. "What's going on? You didn't even call."

Emily shrugged, dropping her suitcase near the stairs. "Needed a change of scenery."

Her aunt frowned, crossing her arms. "That's not like you. What happened?"

"Nothing happened," Emily said, avoiding her gaze. "I just… needed to get away for a bit."

Clarice didn't look convinced, but she didn't push. Instead, she gestured toward the guest room. "Fine. Go unpack. But don't think I'm letting this go."

Emily nodded, grateful for the temporary reprieve. She hauled her suitcase into the small, cozy room that had always been hers during visits. The lavender-scented sheets and soft yellow walls were exactly as she remembered. She opened her suitcase, pulling out clothes and toiletries, arranging them haphazardly in the drawers.

Her aunt's voice called from the kitchen. "You hungry? I can make something."

"Starving," Emily admitted, stepping into the hallway.

"Sit tight. I'll whip up something quick."

Emily returned to the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. She stared at the open suitcase, her mind replaying the events of the past few days. Meeting David, the drinks, the way he looked at her like she was the only one who mattered. She liked the way he made her feel, even if she barely knew him.

But here, in the quiet of her aunt's house, it felt distant, like it belonged to another version of herself. A version she wasn't ready to confront yet.

"Food's ready!"

Her aunt's voice broke through her thoughts, and Emily made her way to the kitchen. The table was set with a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. Simple but comforting.

Clarice watched her as she ate, her arms crossed. "You want to tell me what's really going on now?"

Emily shook her head, focusing on her plate. "Not really."

Clarice sighed. "You've always been stubborn, you know that?"

Emily smiled faintly. "Runs in the family."

Her aunt chuckled, but her eyes were still sharp, searching for answers Emily wasn't ready to give. For now, the silence between them was enough.

When her plate was clean, Emily pushed back her chair and stretched. "I'm beat. Mind if I crash early?"

"Go ahead," Clarice said. "But we're talking tomorrow, Emily. Don't think you're off the hook."

"Thanks for the food," Emily said, giving her a small smile before retreating to the guest room.

She kicked off her shoes and climbed into bed, the lavender-scented sheets wrapping around her like a cocoon. The exhaustion hit her all at once, pulling her into a dreamless sleep.

For now, the questions, the guilt, and the whirlwind of emotions could wait. Wintrell might not have all the answers, but it was a start.