Margaret’s suspicions were like shadows, stretching into every corner of my life. She lingered in doorways, hovered near the kitchen, watched my interactions with Ryan from a distance that felt suffocating. Her sharp eyes caught every tremor of my hand, every flicker of my expression. I tried to act normal, but I could feel the noose tightening.
And then, there were the subtle hints from Ryan. A glance, a half-smile, a comment just loud enough for me to hear. “Careful,” he’d murmur. “Someone might notice if you keep avoiding them.”
The reminder stung. Sophie. Margaret. Our precarious balance teetered on the edge of ruin, and yet we could not stop. Every encounter, every whispered touch, every brief, stolen kiss was a crack in the dam of our morality.
A week later, the symptoms began.
A
