Chapter 3
Before Arthur could gather his breath to speak again, a soft, rhythmic tapping echoed from the entryway. Everyone turned their attention toward the front door as a figure stepped hesitantly across the threshold. Evan, the red-haired woman, stood in the doorway, leaning heavily on a pair of silver crutches. Her long red hair was slightly disheveled, and dark scrapes and bruises marked her exposed skin. She wore a dark utility jumpsuit, the legs of which were noticeably torn, revealing bandaged shins beneath. Her emerald eyes widened in absolute shock as she surveyed the scattered white porcelain and the swirling dust settling across the living room floor.
Leo’s breath hitched. Seeing her standing there, battered and surviving against all odds, unlocked something deep inside his chest. He didn't run to his father, nor did he look toward the woman in the blue dress. Instead, he looked straight past the debris at the woman who held the missing pieces of his fractured reality.
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"Hello, Evan," Leo said softly, his voice barely a whisper, cutting through the dense air of the room like a sharp blade.
Evan blinked back sudden tears, her grip tightening on the foam handles of her crutches. The tension in the room shifted instantly, transforming from ordinary domestic grief into something dangerous and urgent. Arthur’s face drained of color, his tall frame swaying slightly as he recognized the woman he had assumed was dead and buried miles away. Claire pressed a hand to her mouth, her carefully maintained composure finally cracking. The arrival of the red-haired woman wasn't just a surprise; it was the catalyst for an inevitable reckoning. Leo stood amidst the ruins of the urn, his heart pounding a furious rhythm against his ribs. The ghosts of the past were no longer resting peacefully in a decorative jar; they had walked right through the front door, demanding justice, truth, and an accounting of the terrible things done in the dark.
