Ethan Caldwell was a man who could bend industries with a single phone call. Power, money, control—those had always been his language. But none of it could undo the loss that had hollowed him out. His wife, Anna, was gone, and the mansion that once symbolized success now felt like a silent museum. One afternoon, with a meeting ending early, Ethan drove home unannounced, hoping—without admitting it—to feel human again.
The moment he stepped inside, he stopped. The house didn’t smell of marble or cleaning chemicals. It smelled like fresh basil and warm bread. The scent pulled him backward in time, to afternoons when Anna cooked barefoot while the kids laughed nearby. His chest tightened. That smell belonged to her. And yet, she was gone.
