Chapter 5: The Gift She Didn’t Want

Each night, Lucille tries to win back control—locking doors, hiding Ernest’s food, setting traps with sardines. Yet each morning, the traps were untouched while her prized possessions vanish, one by one. Her tiara. Her ballet shoes. Her voice recorder—gone. In their place, small gifts: a thistle, a beetle wing, a note in elegant script reading “Try listening.”

Desperation crept in. Lucille caught her reflection—unkempt, afraid, alone. Suddenly she realized that Ernest wasn’t retaliating. He was rewiring her world. She knew that she can’t win this contest with cruelty. She needed to shift. That night, she knelt, unsure of exactly how to begin, and then Ernest appeared—not as a victim, but as her only guide.

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Chapter 6: The Photo That Knew Her

That evening, the final straw arrives—a photo of Lucille, asleep and smiling as a baby, nestled beside a kitten with ginger fur. Her late grandmother’s handwriting scrawled on the back: “Even the hardest hearts need a soft beginning.” Lucille’s breath caught. This wasn’t her first cat. It was a second chance. The attic’s fog receded, and Lucille heard Ernest meow—not in menace, but invitation. The room shifted, and Lucille held on to steady herself. Her chest ached. If Ernest came to judge her, maybe he also came to heal her. She gathers her pride like a tattered cloak, walked to him slowly, and whispered the one word she’s never tried: “Sorry.”

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