My Growing Doubts and the Surface Calm
I stood there, water glass in hand, my heart sinking. This scene had played out for days: my brother left for work, and she’d vanish, impeccably dressed. Where did she go? She had no close friends around here, at least none I knew of. With the house empty during the day, I tried to find clues—rummaging through the trash (a foolish move, I knew), hunting for receipts or anything suspicious. But it was spotless, revealing nothing.
Unusual Attentiveness and the Scent of Baking
Stranger still, she began treating me with excessive kindness—almost deliberate. T-shirts I’d tossed into the laundry basket would reappear the next day, washed, dried, and neatly folded on my bed. When she returned in the afternoon, the kitchen would hum with the oven's whirr, filling the air with sweet aromas—apple pie or cookies. She’d emerge with steaming treats, urging me, "Don't just stand there! Try them—fresh out of the oven."
Warmth, Misgivings, and My Brother's Blindness?
Her smile was natural, her gaze gentle. As she handed me a fork, her fingertips still warm from the baking tray, the comforting heat of the pie would momentarily soothe my anxieties about the red dress. But at night, lying in bed, those doubts resurfaced like tiny thorns. I watched my brother closely. At dinner, she’d be in her usual home attire, hair loose, utterly ordinary. He’d chat about mundane things—work, neighbors' gossip—his expression calm, betraying no suspicion.
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