CHAPTER 26: MEMORIES IN THE MIST

Amber stood in her cozy apartment, the soft hum of the city outside her window a distant murmur. It was a typical Thursday evening, the kind where the weight of the week settled heavily on her shoulders. She had just come home from a long day at school, her mind still buzzing with thoughts of deadlines and the current murder probe in her life. The glow of the sunset filtered through the sheer curtains, casting a warm, golden hue in the bathroom.

As she stepped into the bathroom, Amber felt a familiar sense of comfort, something she lacked for days. This small sanctuary was her escape, a place where she could shed not just the physical remnants of the day but also the mental clutter. She turned the faucet on, and the sound of running water filled the air, mingling with the faint sounds of traffic below.

Temperature adjusted: Hot water cascaded down, steam rising like a whisper of tranquility. Aroma of lavender: She squirted a generous amount of lavender-scented shower gel into her palm, its fragrance enveloping her like a soft embrace.

As she stepped into the tub, the warmth enveloped her, easing the tension in her muscles. The steam formed a thick mist around her, creating an ethereal atmosphere. She closed her eyes, allowing the water to wash away the fatigue of the day, each droplet a tiny reminder of her resilience.

In the solitude of the shower, Amber's mind wandered. The steam fogged the mirror above the sink, obscuring her reflection and allowing her to drift into the past. She thought of the moments that had shaped her—laughter shared with friends, quiet evenings spent reading, and the bittersweet taste of the family she lost.

 She recalled their late-night talks, the way they would share dreams and fears over mugs of steaming tea. 

Amber inhaled deeply, letting the memories wash over her. They were a part of her, but she knew she had to let them go. The water poured over her, a cleansing ritual that made room for new experiences and adventures.

As she rinsed the soap from her body, Amber felt a sense of renewal. She had plans for the weekend—to hang out with Alison at her apartment, call Kyro to check up on him. They could also plan a weekend gate away at the mountains, a few kilometers east from Campston University. They needed a break, something, anything that could distract them from their present harsh reality.

With each rinse, she imagined the crisp mountain air, the rustle of leaves, and the sound of birds chirping in the distance. It was a reminder that life was about to shift, a new chapter waiting to be written.

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Amber stepped out of the shower, the warmth of the water still clinging to her skin, steam billowing around her like a shroud. She reached for the towel on the rack and patted herself dry, her movements slow and deliberate. The bathroom mirror was fogged over, her reflection obscured by a haze she didn't feel like clearing. The steam seemed to mirror the fog in her mind—a constant, clinging reminder of everything she tried to forget.

Wrapping the towel around her, she pushed the door open, letting the cool air from her bedroom rush in to meet the lingering heat. Her gaze drifted as she walked past her dresser, a familiar ache tightening her chest. There it was, sitting in a simple wooden frame: the photo.

Amber froze.

The picture was taken on a summer afternoon, the sunlight casting a golden glow over the three of them. Her father had his arm around her mother, both of them smiling, their laughter almost audible even now. Amber and another figure stood between them, her younger self grinning with carefree joy, clutching a cone of melting ice cream. They were happy then. Whole. A perfect unit. That photo was taken on her fifteenth birthday. 

Never would she have predicted that her life would take such a drastic turn.

Her breath hitched, and the edges of her vision blurred as the memories came rushing in, unbidden and unrelenting.

She was twenty when it happened. The smell of smoke was the first thing she noticed, sharp and acrid, cutting through the night like a warning. She was disoriented, the fire alarm's shrill scream piercing through the house. Flames licked at the edges of her bedroom door, their orange glow painting her walls in terrifying patterns.

"Fire! Help!" she had screamed, her voice breaking as she stumbled out of the room, coughing against the thickening smoke. The hallway was an inferno, heat searing her skin as she ran, barefoot, towards another room. She reached the door, but the flames were already there, blocking her way. No voices called back to her. No sounds of movement came from behind the fire's relentless roar. The silence was louder than the crackling blaze.

Panic gripped her, and she turned back, heading for the front door as her father had always told her to in emergencies, many years ago, when he was still a father to her. Tears blurred her vision as she escaped into the night, the cold air hitting her like a slap. She turned back toward the house, watching helplessly as the flames devoured everything she had ever known. Her parents never came out.

Amber blinked, the memory dissolving into another, this one colder, harsher. The sterile whiteness of the hospital room. The doctor's voice, clinical and detached, explaining the unexplainable.

"Your parents sustained third-degree burns over seventy percent of their bodies. We did everything we could, but the injuries were too severe."

She had nodded numbly, the words barely registering. It wasn't until they showed her the charred remains of what had once been her mother and father that the reality struck. They were unrecognizable, their features erased by the fire's merciless fury. She had stared at their broken bodies, her mind screaming that this couldn't be them. It couldn't be real.

But it was.

The photo in front of her seemed to mock her now, a cruel reminder of what she had lost. Amber sank to her knees, the towel slipping from her shoulders, forgotten. Her hands trembled as she reached for the frame, her fingers brushing against the glass.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking. Tears spilled freely down her cheeks, her sobs muffled as she clutched the photo to her chest. "I'm so sorry."

The weight of the grief was unbearable, a suffocating presence that refused to let her breathe. But even in the depths of her anguish, there was a flicker of something else. Resolve. She had survived when they hadn't. That fact haunted her, yes, but it also demanded something of her. She had to keep going. For herself.

Amber placed the photo back on the dresser, her hands steadying despite the storm raging inside her. She wiped her tears, straightened her posture, and took a deep breath. The pain would always be there, a scar etched into her soul, but she would carry it. She had no other choice.

Because sometimes, surviving was the only way to honor the ones who couldn't.