Her Regret In The Ashes

Three years ago, Lauren stood in our kitchen, tears streaming down her face, telling me the company had collapsed. She said we had to mortgage the house my father left me—our wedding home—just to keep the wolves from the door.

She gripped my hands, her eyes red and desperate, promising me she’d win it back. She swore that house, the only thing I had left of my father’s legacy, would be ours again.

I spent three years living for that promise. Until today.

I had walked into her office, heart light, thinking we were finally ready to reclaim those memories.