To prevent me from breaking down, the housekeeper started with the wedding photos and the dozens of albums filled with memories of Sebastian and me.
Within hours, the home I had so carefully decorated lost all remnants of celebration, slipping into an eerie silence.
The atmosphere turned cold and empty and I couldn’t help but feel the same way inside.
The housekeeper sighed softly, shaking her head as she looked at the ten or so bags filled with reminders of love.
"Miss, you need to move on."
I nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.
When the housekeeper left, I made sure there were no traces of me left in the house. I deleted my fingerprints from every surface and grabbed my suitcase.
Instead of heading to the apartment Sebastian had rented for me, I checked into a secluded confinement center.
The receptionist, sympathetic to my miscarriage, kindly assigned me to a quiet, secluded floor.
I spent a few peaceful days there until, one day, a notification from the surveillance system pinged on my phone.
I had completely forgotten to cancel the monitoring account for the wedding home.
Out of curiosity, I clicked on the notification by accident.