aturday morning arrived with a hush in the air. The house felt oddly still, as if it, too, was waiting.
Anne stood by the window, her soft brown hair brushing her shoulders, catching the sunlight in waves. Her skin was smooth and warm-toned, her eyes a deep, soulful brown that always seemed to hold stories she hadn't yet told. She was beautiful—effortlessly so—the kind that turned heads without trying, wrapped in a quiet grace that spoke louder than vanity ever could.
Emily had changed outfits twice, unsure what to wear to meet "the people who owned the house." Josh clung to Anne's side more than usual.
The hours crawled. Mr. Philip had stepped out early, saying he'd be back shortly. By noon, the house was spotless. The help had laid out light refreshments in the sitting room, and soft instrumental music played in the background.
Anne paced once or twice before retreating to her room, fixing her hair and lip balm in front of the mirror. Her heart beat faster with every tick of the clock.
Then… the distant sound of tires on gravel.
Emily peeked from behind the curtain. "They're here!"
Josh ran to Anne, who held his hand tight and swallowed the tightness rising in her chest.
A sleek black car rolled to a stop out front. Mr. Philip stepped out first, then a tall woman with graceful movements and warm, intelligent eyes. She looked every bit as kind as Mr. Philip had described.
Beside her stepped a girl—Elsa—fifteen, fair-skinned, with a confident poise and sharp gaze. Her expression was unreadable.
And then him.
Shawn.
Nineteen, tall, lean with sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of dusk. He moved like someone used to being noticed—broad-shouldered, effortlessly cool, with hands in his pockets and an aura that demanded attention without saying a word.
Anne's heart gave a small, involuntary flutter.
She quickly looked away.
The front door opened.
"Anne," Mr. Philip called warmly, "come say hello."
She stepped forward, Josh and Emily close at her sides.
Shawn's gaze landed on her and lingered.
There was a silence—short but weighted—before anyone spoke.
aturday morning arrived with a hush in the air. The house felt oddly still, as if it, too, was waiting.
Anne stood by the window, her soft brown hair brushing her shoulders, catching the sunlight in waves. Her skin was smooth and warm-toned, her eyes a deep, soulful brown that always seemed to hold stories she hadn't yet told. She was beautiful—effortlessly so—the kind that turned heads without trying, wrapped in a quiet grace that spoke louder than vanity ever could.
Emily had changed outfits twice, unsure what to wear to meet "the people who owned the house." Josh clung to Anne's side more than usual.
The hours crawled. Mr. Philip had stepped out early, saying he'd be back shortly. By noon, the house was spotless. The help had laid out light refreshments in the sitting room, and soft instrumental music played in the background.
Anne paced once or twice before retreating to her room, fixing her hair and lip balm in front of the mirror. Her heart beat faster with every tick of the clock.
Then… the distant sound of tires on gravel.
Emily peeked from behind the curtain. "They're here!"
Josh ran to Anne, who held his hand tight and swallowed the tightness rising in her chest.
A sleek black car rolled to a stop out front. Mr. Philip stepped out first, then a tall woman with graceful movements and warm, intelligent eyes. She looked every bit as kind as Mr. Philip had described.
Beside her stepped a girl—Elsa—fifteen, fair-skinned, with a confident poise and sharp gaze. Her expression was unreadable.
And then him.
Shawn.
Nineteen, tall, lean with sharp cheekbones and eyes the color of dusk. He moved like someone used to being noticed—broad-shouldered, effortlessly cool, with hands in his pockets and an aura that demanded attention without saying a word.
Anne's heart gave a small, involuntary flutter.
She quickly looked away.
The front door opened.
"Anne," Mr. Philip called warmly, "come say hello."
She stepped forward, Josh and Emily close at her sides.
Shawn's gaze landed on her and lingered.
There was a silence—short but weighted—before anyone spoke.
"Anne, this is my wife, Patricia," Mr. Philip said, his hand resting gently on her back. "And these are my children—Shawn and Elsa."
Anne offered a small, polite smile. "It's nice to meet you, ma'am."
Patricia stepped forward and pulled her into a soft, unexpected hug. "I've heard so much about you. Thank you for taking care of your siblings so well."
Anne blinked, caught off guard by the warmth in her voice.
Elsa gave a small nod, saying nothing. She stood stiffly beside her mother, glancing down at her phone, expression unreadable.
Shawn, however, was still watching Anne. Not rudely—just curiously, quietly, like someone trying to figure out a puzzle they didn't know they were holding.
Anne turned slightly, pretending not to notice. "This is Emily," she said, nudging her sister forward.
Emily, shy but sweet, gave a small wave. "Hi."
Josh peeked from behind Anne, holding onto her dress tightly.
"They're adorable," Patricia said with a smile. "Come, let's all sit down. I'm sure you've been waiting long."
As everyone stepped into the living room, Shawn remained behind for a second, still at the door.
His eyes trailed Anne one last time before he finally followed the rest of the family in.
And so, the house that had once felt like a sanctuary shifted ever so slightly—its air heavier, its rooms fuller, its quiet, no longer so quiet.