Inside their modest home, Sarah rushed forward, wrapping him tightly. Her kiss was warm, but her eyes darted, finding his again. Michael chalked it up to nerves. After years apart, reshaping their rhythm would take some time. Still, her smile trembled in a way he couldn’t quite ignore.
The house smelled faintly different—fresh paint, lemon cleaner, a touch of something new. Familiar furniture was in place, but curtains had been changed, a rug swapped out. Harmless changes, surely, yet Michael felt a faint disconnect, as though stepping into a memory that had been carefully altered.