She was young. Couldn’t have been more than nineteen.
Long brown hair. Big eyes. A wide smile.
She clung to Ben’s arm like she belonged there. Like it was normal.
My heart dropped into my stomach.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
He looked at me like this was all fine. Like this wasn’t strange at all.
“This is Carly,” he said.
“She’s a good friend from work. She’s going through a rough patch. I told her she could stay with us a few days.”
A few days?
I stared at her, then back at him.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
I wanted to say absolutely not. I wanted to shout. But I didn’t.
I nodded.
I nodded because I didn’t want a scene.
Because she was right there.
Because part of me still wanted to believe he was telling the truth.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
But deep in my chest, something whispered: This isn’t just a few days. Not even close.
That night, after Carly went to bed, I sat across from Ben in the living room.
The TV was on, but neither of us was really watching.
I folded laundry, letting the soft thump of clothes in my lap fill the silence between us.
I didn’t look up. Just asked it straight.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“So… Carly. You’ve never mentioned her before.”
Ben shifted in his chair.
I saw it in the corner of my eye — the way he ran his fingers through his hair like he always did when he was nervous.
“She’s new,” he said.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“An intern at work. Her mom kicked her out when she turned eighteen. No place to go. I couldn’t leave her out there, Jess.”
I pressed a shirt flat on my knee.
“I get that,” I said slowly.
“But… she’s staying the weekend?”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
“That’s all,” he said quickly. “Just the weekend.”
I gave a tight nod. “Okay.”
But I didn’t believe him. Not really.
The next morning, the smell of pancakes woke me up.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Sweet and buttery, with a hint of cinnamon.
I padded down the hallway in my robe, rubbing sleep from my eyes — and stopped cold at the kitchen door.
Carly stood at the stove in my apron, flipping pancakes like she’d done it a hundred times. And Ben… Ben stood beside her.
Smiling. Joking. Helping her stir the batter.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
They looked like a couple in a cooking show.
She bumped his hand by accident, and he laughed. She giggled, brushing her hair behind her ear.
“Good morning!” they both said when they noticed me.
My mouth was too dry to reply. I forced a smile and sat down at the table.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
Ben handed her a plate with such gentle care, his hand grazing her shoulder as he did. She didn’t flinch.
My stomach twisted.
Ben never helped me make breakfast.
Not even once last year. He was always too tired. Too busy.
But today? Today he was full of energy.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
I didn’t say a word.
Not yet.
That night, I told Ben I’d grab a few things from the store.
Truth was, I just needed out. A little silence. A little space.
Something that didn’t smell like pancakes or feel like betrayal.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
I drove slow, letting the hum of the road clear my mind. Walked the aisles without really seeing anything.
Tossed a loaf of bread and some apples into the cart, but I wasn’t there for groceries.
I was hiding.
When I came home, the house was too quiet. No TV. No music. No voices. Just stillness. The kind that makes your skin crawl.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
I set the bags down on the counter, listening.
That’s when I heard it — soft, broken. A sound like a bird with a bent wing.
Crying.
I followed the sound down the hall. The bathroom door wasn’t fully shut. The light buzzed faintly overhead.
I pushed gently.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
There she was.
Carly sat on the edge of the tub, shoulders hunched, hands covering her face. Her whole body shook.
“Carly?” I said softly.
She flinched. Looked up fast. Her eyes were red, cheeks wet.
“What’s wrong?”
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
She wiped her face with the sleeve of her hoodie.
“I… I can’t say,” she whispered.
“Why not?”
She stared down at the tile.
“He told me not to,” she said, and her voice cracked like something splitting open.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Pexels
My heart slammed hard.
