The dog refused to cross the threshold, no matter how hard she pulled on the leash. “It’s okay,” Sophie whispered, though her voice shook. The house hadn’t changed much. The paint was peeling now, and the garden was wild, but it was still the same blue door. She hadn’t stepped inside since she left for college. After her father’s stroke, the house had gone up for sale. Sophie had insisted she didn’t care. She had built a new life. A different one. But when she saw the listing online, something twisted inside her. The realtor unlocked the door. The dog sat stubbornly on the porch. Sophie stepped inside alone. The hallway smelled faintly of old wood and cleaning supplies. She could almost hear echoes of arguments, laughter, slammed doors. She walked into the kitchen and touched the counter where she used to sit and do homework. “I’m fine,” she had told everyone when she moved away. She had been so sure leaving would fix everything. The dog finally padded inside cautiously, sniffing the air. Sophie blinked back tears. The realtor talked about renovations and resale value. Sophie nodded. She told herself buying the house back would heal something. But standing in the doorway of her old bedroom, she felt the same weight she’d carried for years. Only later did she realize that nothing had actually been resolved.