The house smelled like dust, but beneath that stale scent, there was a faint lingering trace of violets. It was always that way since Alice’s husband, William, died; like a perfume he’d left behind.
A signature scent, unique to him, and it clung to the house long after he’d gone. It made her heart ache. But more than that, it made her long to remember him, despite everything.
Alice sat at the small kitchen table, her hands trembling slightly as she shuffled through a box of old papers. She hadn’t meant to search through William’s things.
It wasn’t that she was against it, she just hadn’t been ready. But it had been six months since his death, and the grief had dulled to something almost like a faint bruise, still there, but not throbbing constantly.
Anya Tiosa. By day, she wrangles the minds of unsuspecting pre-teens, armed only with patience (mostly) and a healthy supply of caffeine. By night, she transforms into a secret agent of the mundane, infiltrating the lives of ordinary folks and documenting their hilarious, heartbreaking, and utterly bizarre quirks.
Ovi eBook Publishing 2025
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