One Friday, with the kids heading to my mother’s for the weekend, I decided to do something special. I wanted to remind him of us, of what we had been through together.
I cleaned the house, lit candles, and ordered his favorite dinner. It felt hopeful, almost like reclaiming something that had slipped away.
When I pulled back into the driveway, his car was already there.
I smiled, assuming he had come home early.
As I walked up to the door, I heard laughter inside. A man’s voice and a woman’s voice. The woman’s voice stopped me cold because it was painfully familiar.
My sister.
My mind scrambled to make sense of it. Maybe she had stopped by unexpectedly. Maybe I was overreacting. I opened the door slowly, my heart pounding.
The house was dim, except for the light coming from our bedroom down the hall.
I walked toward it, every step feeling heavier than the last. The door was nearly closed. I pushed it open.
What I saw didn’t unfold in slow motion. It happened quickly and clearly, which somehow made it worse. Daniel and my sister froze, both startled, both exposed in a way that left no room for misunderstanding.
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