Justin entered the room that once belonged to his father. It was the first time he was seeing it, and he tried to find any sense of familiarity—tried to recall if he had any memories of it.
If he had visited this place as a child, he was sure he must have been in this room. But he could recall nothing. He looked around the room, which was well-kept, though it was clear no one had stayed there for a long time.
The room was spacious but simple and elegant, dominated by white tones—a king-sized bed, minimal decor. The person who had once lived here clearly didn't spend much time in it.
Justin's attention was drawn to a cluster of small picture frames hung on the wall. They held photos of his father from childhood to adulthood, capturing significant moments—Marina holding baby Alex, a school picture, Alex as a young man riding a horse, and others.
