Heartstrings on Fire novel Chapter 1288

It was different from when she had left.

The door to the villa was wide open.

Agnes couldn't believe the new owner's audacity. Weren't they afraid of burglars?

But then again, Agnes felt like a burglar herself at that moment.

She looked inside, seeing the villa lit up like a Christmas tree.

Her mind drifted back to when she was a child, living here with her parents in their little slice of heaven.

Those were the days, truly happy times.

Just like any other blissful family, her dad would head off to the office every day and come back with gifts for her.

Her mom would tend to the garden, whipping up her favorite apple pie.

Those days seemed just like yesterday.

Agnes found it strange.

By the time she was eighteen, most of those memories had faded.

After all, Laura and Beatrice had long since become a part of her life.

But now, with eight years of her memory lost, those distant memories were clearer than ever.

Every little thing that happened at home.

Agnes could almost taste her mom’s homemade lasagna.

Yet everything about Beatrice and Laura was hazy, as if covered in a layer of dust.

Maybe the universe has a way of erasing the not-so-good bits, leaving only what she wanted to remember.

Lost in thought, Agnes found herself in the garden.

Before she knew it, she was standing at the villa’s doorstep.

She was surprised at how she just walked in like that.

The door had a fingerprint lock.

Agnes knew the new owner must have changed the codes by now.

Still, she wanted to visit the house.

Or maybe she just wanted one last look inside.

Agnes pressed the doorbell.

She waited and waited, but there was no response.

Because Agnes knew, once she left, chances to return would be few and far between.

She always felt a pull towards this place, a deep-seated regret.

Even if it meant trespassing, she needed to see it once more.

Agnes opened the door.

Everything she saw was familiar. The colors, the arrangements, everything.

It was as if time had stood still.

Her mother would have been arranging flowers in the living room.

Her father’s study light still burning.

Agnes drifted inside, almost against her will.

Why, after eight years, was everything unchanged?

Agnes slowly climbed the stairs.

She knew she was intruding without the owner’s permission, and it wasn’t right.

But she couldn’t help herself.