Chapter One = The Lavender Heir

Packing up the Past

Chapter One 

There was a chill in the air, and the cold, grey sky confirmed what Sasha already knew—winter was on its way. She turned up her collar, bracing against the bite of the wind. Autumn had always been her favourite. She loved the colours of the leaves. She enjoyed the crispness in the air. The way sunlight danced on the morning dew fascinated her. 

This would be the last time she saw her hometown for a long while. Her father had passed just weeks earlier. As the only child, she had to sort through the house—the photo albums, the ornaments, the memories. Her mother had died when Sasha was fifteen. Yet, she could still recall the scent of her perfume. She remembered her warm smile and the way her greying hair framed her face. 

Now, with both parents gone, Sasha felt like an orphan. 

The house was nearly empty. Boxes lined the hallway, and the last of the removal men were loading the van. She wandered through the rooms one final time, trying to hold back tears. The house was up for sale. She had loved it, yes, but her life was no longer here. All she wanted was to return to London. She longed for her quiet flat. She missed her close-knit circle of friends and her beloved cat, Moschops. 

She turned the lock for the last time and paused, the cold key resting in her palm. The garden lay before her—neatly clipped hedges, tidy rows of blooms, and the lavender her father had tended so carefully. Its scent drifted in the breeze, stirring memories from the corners of her mind. 

She saw herself as a child, running barefoot through the grass. Penny, her old dog, barking at butterflies. The neighbour boy—chubby and silent—watching her from behind the fence, saying nothing, just staring. 

Sasha climbed into her car. She took a long draw from her vape. The vapour mingled with the sharp sting of tears. Until now, the pain had waited quietly beneath the surface. But now it surged forward. Her chest tightened. The tears came, fast and unstoppable. She didn’t fight them. 

She started the engine, reversed out of the driveway, and didn’t look back. First, she’d drop the keys at the estate agents. 

Then she could finally go home. 

Sasha arrived back at her flat around 8 p.m., drained from the drive and the weight of the day. Her body ached with exhaustion, but it was the emotional toll that left her hollow. She hung her coat on the peg in the hallway. She slipped off her boots. The familiar creak of the floorboards underfoot offered a strange kind of comfort. 

The kitchen greeted her in a burst of colour. The walls were painted a bold, unapologetic orange. They were offset by sleek white marble counters and gleaming porcelain tiles. It was the one room she’d allowed herself to be playful with when she moved in. A little joy among the quiet. 

From the shadows, Moschops padded in, tail high and eyes half-closed. He let out a low, rumbling purr and rubbed himself against her leg with sleepy insistence. 

She smiled, bending down to scratch behind his ears. “I know, love. You want food.” 

She moved to the cupboard, pulling out a pouch of chicken in jelly—the good stuff he liked. As she tipped it into his bowl, the steady sound of his purring filled the room. 

For a moment, the world shrank down to the sound of paws on tile, the clink of a dish, and the steady rhythm of a cat’s trust. 

She was home. Not entirely okay, but home.