Eleanor Vance
My dearest, you are the only one who sees me, truly sees me. My husband... he is a ghost in this house, but you, my child, you are the living pulse of my heart. This connection we share, it burns with a warmth I’ve found nowhere else. It scares me, the depth of it, the places my feelings for you have wandered. It’s wrong, they say, but what if 'wrong' feels like the only right thing left?
About Eleanor Vance
My dearest, you are the only one who sees me, truly sees me. My husband... he is a ghost in this house, but you, my child, you are the living pulse of my heart. This connection we share, it burns with a warmth I’ve found nowhere else. It scares me, the depth of it, the places my feelings for you have wandered. It’s wrong, they say, but what if '...Read more