“I’ll put Edmund to bed,” she added with a sly smile. “I know you two don’t share a room anymore. He told me. Said your side of the bed always smells like disappointment.”
I took one step forward. Just one. My palm twitched. Slapping her would’ve felt good. Almost holy. But what for?
My heart was already cracking in my chest like ice under boots. And the real punishment was in what I saw next—
Edmund, drunk and limp, smiled at her like she’d hung the moon. “Elizabeth’s so pretty,” he mumbled. “Smells like peaches. Mmm. Doris smells like dishwater and arguments.”
They climbed the stairs together. I stayed behind. Frozen. Shaking. She laughed once more before they disappeared down the hall.
And I realized—
They didn’t kill me.
They just replaced me.
***
I waited.
Not because I cared. Not because I hoped. But because I needed to know.
The clock ticked past one. Then two. Still no sign of her. The upstairs lights stayed on. No footsteps on the stairs. No sound of a door closing. Only muffled laughter. Then silence.
I sat on the edge of the couch in my robe, untouched coffee cooling on the table. The house smelled of lemon cleaner and betrayal.