Over the next several weeks, Brianna began to observe a pattern. On the rare days when Zachary worked from his downstairs study or spent time walking slowly in the garden, his color improved. His voice sounded stronger. But whenever he returned to the main bedroom for more than a few hours, his condition worsened dramatically.
One afternoon, while cleaning behind a tall built in cabinet near the back of the room, Brianna noticed something that made her stomach tighten. At the base of the wall, hidden from view, was a darkened area where the surface felt soft beneath her fingers. When she leaned closer, a sharp, rotten smell rose instantly.
She froze.
Brianna grew up in an old apartment complex where water leaks were common. She remembered neighbors getting sick, unexplained headaches, constant fatigue. Her aunt once told her that hidden moisture was dangerous because it worked slowly and silently.
That night, Brianna barely slept.
At home, Reina noticed her pacing the kitchen.
“You look like you are carrying the weight of the world,” Reina said. “What happened?”
Brianna told her everything. The illness. The room. The smell.