As I stepped inside, something felt wrong. Not dramatically wrong. Just… off. The air felt heavy, like it had been disturbed.
Then I heard it.
Low. Urgent. Whispered.
At first, my mind rejected the possibility. I told myself it was the television. Or maybe my imagination running wild after a long day. But my feet moved anyway, carrying me down the hallway toward the bedroom.
Each step felt slower than the last.
When I pushed the door open, time seemed to stop.
My husband.
My sister.
In my bed.
For a moment, I genuinely couldn’t breathe. My chest locked up, and my vision blurred at the edges. They froze, scrambling for sheets, stumbling over words that never formed properly.
They said my name. They reached out. They tried to explain.
None of it mattered.
“I loved you both. Why?”
There was no answer that could have made sense.
So I turned around.
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