Valentina's POV
The key turned in the lock with a heavy, metallic thud that echoed down the sterile hallway of the high-rise.
I stepped inside and stood in the entryway for a long time, before crossing the threshold, letting the silence wash over me.
I had my bag hanging from one hand, the key still in the lock. I'd expected it to feel familiar. For four months I'd been building this life, stocking these shelves, sleeping in that bed. I'd expected to step inside and feel the particular relief of returning to something that was mine, even if mine was a lie.
Instead it felt like a crime scene.
I made myself go in.
It smelled like Valdina, vanilla and expensive perfume and the artificial freshener of the air conditioning vents.
I was here to perform normalcy.
That was the directive.
That was the job.
The fridge held a jar of capers, a bottle of white wine that had turned, and a wedge of hard cheese I didn't remember buying. I threw out the cheese and the wine.
