That night, Rebecca sat in her small room overlooking the dark garden. She thought about the boys, about their stillness, their fragile voices, their haunted silence. Something felt wrong, but not in the way the doctors described. It felt like the problem lived in the house itself.
In the following days, she observed everything. The windows in the boys’ room were locked. The air system ran constantly. The room smelled faintly of strong disinfectant. Every morning, the twins woke weaker. Every afternoon, when she managed to bring Aaron outside for a few minutes, he looked slightly better.
One day, Rebecca went to the basement searching for the library. Instead, she found shelves of industrial cleaning supplies. Among them sat large bottles labeled with a chemical name she recognized from an old hospital job. Glutaraldehyde. Her stomach dropped. She remembered warnings about ventilation, headaches, nerve issues, and long term exposure risks.
She set the bottle back just as Mrs. Hargrove appeared in the doorway.
“You are lost,” the woman said evenly.
Rebecca smiled politely. “I was looking for the library.”