When Family Became a Place I Couldn’t Return To novel Chapter 3

Brody’s car glided past the gates of an upscale community. Nelly followed, but the moment she eased her own car inside, a sudden pain twisted in her stomach, sharp enough to make her hunch over the steering wheel.

She swallowed hard, the urge to throw up nearly overwhelming. Grabbing a tissue, she wiped her mouth, only to see thin streaks of blood mingled with bile. The sight stopped her cold. All her pent-up emotions drained away, leaving her numb and shaking.-

She stared at her reflection in the rearview mirror. Her usually soft, pretty features were now ghastly pale, almost unrecognizable. If she went after Brody now, she’d only be humiliating herself.

Instead, Nelly waited until they disappeared into the building. Then she made her way to the front desk, putting on her best act. She claimed she’d accidentally scraped a car and needed to talk about compensation, hoping the story would get her the answers she was looking for.

“Oh, you mean Mr. Garland? He lives in D507,” the receptionist said without hesitation.

Any last hope Nelly had been clinging to vanished in an instant.

Brody had been living here for an entire year. One year ago, their son had died. Ever since then, Brody had barely set foot at home. Nelly, desperate to escape her own grief, buried herself in work and poured all her energy into caring for Carrie.

Thinking about it now, her eyes turned cold and glassy.

Nelly sat in her car as the hours slipped by, watching the daylight fade to black. The rain had stopped, and everything felt impossibly quiet. She opened the glove compartment and pulled out the expensive cigarettes she’d once bought for Brody. One by one, she smoked them all, until the pack was empty.

Her lips cracked and bled, but in some strange way, the blood made her pale face look even more striking, almost beautiful in its brokenness.

At eleven that night, Brody finally appeared, Carrie by his side. When their car drove away, Nelly didn’t give herself time to hesitate. She got out and headed straight upstairs.

Standing in front of the ornate apartment door, her hand shook so badly she could barely press the doorbell. It took her a while, but finally, she managed.

“Did you forget something?” A gentle voice floated out, and the door opened almost immediately.

Sheila stood in front of her, wrapped in silky lounge clothes, her soft skin almost glowing. She looked Nelly up and down, eyes wide with confusion. “Can I help you?”

“But you two own the place. You must be getting married soon?” Nelly’s voice was calm, almost too even. But as she glanced around the apartment, her breath caught in her throat.

Everything in the room—the colors, the furniture, the decorations, even the way things were arranged—looked exactly like her own home.

Her hands tightened into fists, nails pressing into her palms so hard it almost hurt.

“That depends on him,” Sheila said softly, her voice full of happiness. She sounded like someone completely wrapped in love.

It was such a contrast to Nelly, who after years of distance and indifference, could pull herself together even in the face of heartbreak.

“Your home is really beautiful. Did you decorate it yourself?” Nelly turned and managed a small smile.

“Oh, no. My mom designed it. My childhood house looked just like this. I guess I’m sentimental, so I copied everything. You know, the furniture, the decorations, all of it.”