I immediately felt at home in this room. Everything looked so friendly and inviting... Almost as if someone lived here.

Curious, I went further in and ran my finger over the spines of the books. A tingling sensation ran through my fingers, and I held my breath, savoring the moment.

I had no idea that Mum used to have such a soft spot for books in her student days. And also, for this kind of literature. Titles like Wuthering Heights or Bleak House graced the shelf. But it didn’t just have authors like Charles Dickens or Emily Brontë lining the massive wooden panels of the shelf. Apparently, my mother had once found interest in the works of Jane Austen. A first edition of Pride and Prejudice lay on the nightstand to my left, and I recognized it immediately. A classic. I didn’t even want to know how much these books were all worth here.

Intrigued, I reached for the copy next to it, The Secret History by Donna Tartt, and opened it. The pages were a bit yellowed, and I spotted brown coffee stains in the margins.

Whoever read this book had been a very careless coffee drinker. Mum didn’t drink coffee, so it couldn’t have been her.

I was surprised that my mother had never told me about her book collection, although she definitely knew about my love of literature, especially the classics.

I would take her up on it, preferably right now at dinner.

As I was about to put the book away again, a vintage yellowed letter fell out of the last pages of the book.

I examined the paper that had fallen to the floor.

For Alice was written in scrawly ink on the delicately decorated envelope.

Alice? Who was Alice?

Perhaps the previous renter? Or a former student who had found accommodation here? Or perhaps a pseudonym for my mother?

“Bay, darling! Dinner’s ready. Are you coming down?” my mother’s voice rang out from the kitchen.

“Yes! I’ll be right down,” I answered frantically, shoving the letter into my back pocket. For later. Even though it might not have been any of my business... I had found it in our house, and it was not officially addressed to my mother...so?

I reached for the handle to follow the tantalizing smell of good food, but then my eyes grazed a picture frame in the corner of the back bookshelf. Pictured were three young women with their arms draped over their shoulders.

I paused because I immediately recognized that the woman on the right was my mother. She must have been around twenty years old at the time the picture was taken. I had never seen her at that age, but the straight nose and fine jawline... Unmistakable.

I had to smile. As expected, no biker jacket.

Her golden blonde hair was a little longer, and she wore glasses. By now, she had acquired contact lenses. But wow, she looked damn pretty in this picture. And happy... So did the other two women.

In the middle was a young, pretty woman with brown shoulder-length waves and turquoise eyes. Her smiling mouth elicited gentle dimples. In general, you could tell she looked very attractive, with her heart-shaped pale face. Surely, she must have had as many admirers as Larissa.

On the left, another beautiful woman leaned against the shoulders of the woman in the middle. Her ash blonde hair was straight and long, and her eyes had to be very bright. Almost ice blue. Her pretty face looked doll-like.

A certain amazement grew in me at my mother’s friendships. They must have had a beautiful youth. The smile in the picture spoke volumes.

I looked again at the light blonde woman. Somehow, her face seemed familiar. But I couldn’t remember seeing her before.

“What are you doing here?”

I startled violently, dropping the picture. The glass shattered on the floor with a crash, and I backed away, perplexed.

My mother was standing in the doorway, looking at me with her eyes wide open. I had never seen this look on her face before.

I quickly bent down, but my pitiful attempt to clean up the mess I had made here was interrupted by my mother. She pulled me out of the room by the arm, her nails scraping my arm.

“I’m sorry... I didn’t mean to break anything... I...” I started helplessly as her reaction threw me off track. However, she didn’t give me a second to explain myself.

“How did you get into this room?!” Her shaky voice sounded reproachful.

I couldn’t interpret the emotion on her face, which I was usually pretty good at.

All I saw was anger.... and... fear?

“I... I was going to the bathroom, and I got lost,” I brought out, still shocked.

“Of course... It was open. How could I have forgotten?” Mum whispered, talking to herself. She stared into the void. Her facial expression still seemed unchanged. Shocked.

“Mum...? I’m really sorry.”

But my mother didn’t seem to be listening. She turned to the door and put a key in the lock, which she turned. I heard a soft clack, twice.

“My toiletry bag is still in there.”

“Go downstairs and start eating already. I’ll catch up with you. I’ll take care of the bag.”

Her voice sounded different than usual.

What had I done wrong? Immediately I regretted ever having entered this room. Couldn’t I have just turned back immediately and continued looking for the bathroom? I was an idiot and had to snoop around in some of my mother’s private things, and now...

But her reaction... I had never seen her like that before.

So, I obeyed her wordlessly, hoping not to do anything else wrong, and silently made my way down the stairs.

Good job, Bayla. Really great job.

In front of me was a plate of spaghetti. I actually loved this dish, but today, I couldn’t get a bite down. The dull feeling of guilt in my stomach area had driven away the hunger pangs.

Mum was sitting across from me. Her hair was disheveled again, and her eyes were red. She had been crying... And it was my fault.

She hadn’t spoken a word to me since the incident a few minutes ago.

I felt bad and wanted to make up for it somehow. And I didn’t even know exactly what I had done wrong.

Reluctantly, I lifted the fork that was next to my plate and took a bite. It tasted good, but I didn’t want to force anything down my throat.

Carefully, I put the fork down again.

Maybe I should say something before the silence became awkward...

“I’m sorry.” I hesitated. “Whatever I did, please don’t be mad at me anymore.”

Now, she stopped eating. In her look, I recognized something like regret.