Chapter 4

The house looked different through my fractured memory, like viewing a familiar photograph through frosted glass. Mark's arm stayed protectively around my waist as he guided me up the front steps, his keys jingling with practiced ease against the lock I couldn't remember choosing.

"Home sweet home," he said, pushing the door open with a flourish that felt rehearsed.

I stepped inside and immediately stopped, my breath catching in my throat.

Pink. Everything was pink.

Not just accents or touches of color, but an overwhelming assault of rose-colored fabric, ruffles, and lace that made my eyes water. Throw pillows in…