“The real home.”

I wanted to tell him that the estate had never felt like home to me.

It had always been a place where I had to hide in the shadows.

But as the darkness pulled me under, I felt a strange sense of relief.

***

When I woke up, the smell of antiseptic was gone.

Instead, the air smelled of beeswax, lavender, and damp earth.

The steady, clinical beep of the hospital monitor was replaced by a soft, rhythmic hum.

I opened my eyes slowly.

The ceiling above me was made of dark oak beams.

I was lying in a massive four-poster bed with pale linen drapes.

To my left, a tall window showed the grey afternoon sky over the estate gardens.

The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, streaking the glass.

A thin clear tube was resting under my nose, delivering a cool stream of oxygen.

Beside the bed sat a tall metal pole holding an IV bag and a compact medical monitor.

A woman in a navy-blue nurse’s scrub top was sitting in an armchair by the door.