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“The boyfriend said a man’s voice came out of her mouth… different from the distorted version of her own voice he’d been hearing seconds before. That one unmistakably belonged to somebody else. It was deeper, clearer, and sounded angry as hell. The boyfriend’s words, not mine.”

“And what did that person or thing say to the boyfriend?”

“Something like, ‘Yeah, you might wanna leave her ass, my nigga. And both of y’all need to get the fuck out my house.’”

My nigga?

That had been one of Caspian’s favorite sayings. Then again, half the men around Hallowridge said it, so it wasn’t exactly some rare phrase only he used. Still, hearing that those exact words had come out of a woman’s mouth in a strange man’s voice made something uneasy twist in my stomach.

That was weird as hell.

But I didn’t tell Henrietta that. I just let her continue.

“The girl blinked and asked him why he was standing across the kitchen looking at her like she’d grown two heads. He told her what she’d said and demanded to know how long she’d been sleeping with his best friend. She swore she didn’t remember saying any of it.”

I leaned in. “But did she deny it?” I asked, way too invested now.

Somewhere between possessed woman speaking in a man’s voice and secret affair with the best friend, that had stopped feeling like a ghost story and started sounding like somebody had pulled up a chair and poured me a hot cup of tea.

“At first.” Henrietta lifted an eyebrow. “But he started repeating the details back to her, and apparently her face told on her before her mouth did. She got nervous, started stumbling over her words, and eventually admitted the whole thing. Needless to say, extending the lease was no longer the biggest issue in that kitchen.”

“So did they leave that night?”

“Yup,” she nodded, then added, “But separately. The boyfriend called me a little after five that morning and explained everything I just told you. He even told me that the relationship was over, that neither one of them would be staying in the house, and that he’d left the keys inside the lockbox by the gate. He apologized for leaving without notice but said there wasn’t enough money in the world to make him spend another night there.”

“And you didn’t try to talk him into staying?”

Henrietta slowly shook her head. “Normally, I would have. By then, though, I had already watched four different tenants or families leave that house with stories I couldn’t explain. I had spent enough money on inspections to know there was nothing structurally wrong with the property, and frankly, I was tired of convincing people they hadn’t experienced what they knew they experienced. That was almost two years ago. I haven’t rented it since.”

I swallowed against a suddenly dry throat. “And after all that, you want me to bring my five-year-old son and my sick grandmother into that house?”

“Yes,” Henrietta said firmly. “I had electricians, contractors, security specialists, everybody I could think of go through that property, and nobody found anything wrong.”

“That is not exactly comforting.”

“I know. I also know all of this sounds insane, but believe it or not, none of that nonsense ever happens when I’m in the house. I spend hours there at a time. I check the pipes, I water the indoor plants, I sit in the solarium. The house is completely quiet. And when I bring Kaidence over to play in the courtyard or run around the downstairs library, the atmosphere is peaceful. He loves that house and has never told me that he’s witnessed anything out of the ordinary.”

“Maybe because your grandson’s ultimate dream is to live in some giant house with enough rooms to lose himself in, a backyard big enough for every toy he owns, and somewhere to park all those monster trucks he keeps collecting.”

She chuckled, then quickly returned to her serious demeanor. “Or maybe because part of him knows that he belongs there… and so do you. Maybe the problem was never that the house didn’t want people in it. Maybe it’s time the people Caspian always pictured living there finally came home: you… and now Kaidence.”

Tears blurred my vision, and I quickly wiped them away with the back of my thumb.

Henrietta reached into her designer handbag and drew out a heavy brass ring holding two antique keys and an electronic gate fob. She held them out between us.

“Lakelyn, I will love my son until the day they lay me in the ground. But I am tired of holding on to a home he wanted you to live in while watching you struggle out of grief. That house wasn’t built around his disappearance. It was his home first, and before everything went wrong, he was trying to make it yours,” she confessed, her voice cracking just enough to reveal the immense weight she carried every day.

I looked down at the keys resting in her palm.

Six years of avoidance.

Six years of telling myself I wasn’t ready to step back into a place that held too many memories, too many promises, and too much of the life Caspian and I were supposed to have together.

“Granny does need stability,” I said quietly, the words slipping out before I could stop them. “Clean air, and a space to rest without people stomping on the ceiling.”

“The HVAC system was completely replaced last spring,” Henrietta offered gently. “Hospital-grade air filtration throughout the entire house.”

I closed my eyes for a long moment, taking a slow, steadying breath. When I opened them, I met Henrietta’s expectant gaze.