Chapter One – The Turning Point (Instalment 2)

Everything Was in Place—Except Her Heart

The turning point never announces itself with fanfare.
It arrives quietly—often in the middle of something that used to feel like a dream come true.

Her house was beautiful, of course. High ceilings. Pale stone floors. The kind of quiet elegance that came from old money and even older taste. It was the sort of home that made people exhale when they stepped inside, a home that smelled of sandalwood and bergamot, with velvet drapes that softened the morning light like a sigh.

Every object had been chosen with intention—from the Italian ceramics in the kitchen to the stack of biographies on the sunlit armchair in the study.

There were fresh flowers in the hallway—sunflowers this week, at the housekeeper’s suggestion.
“A little joy, madam,” she had said.

They stood tall in a cut-glass vase, golden heads turning unapologetically toward the east-facing window.
She hadn’t noticed them at first. But today, she did.

Today, she paused.

She looked around and saw—perhaps for the first time—that nothing was wrong, and yet something was missing.
She had the invitations, the wardrobe, the view.
Her calendar was full. Her name carried weight.

But inside, a quiet shift was taking place.
Something she couldn’t ignore anymore……

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