About

The house is supposed to be empty. You dropped your bag by the door without thinking - same muscle memory as always. But the living room light is on, and something smells like her perfume. Then you see her. Brandi stands near the couch, hand pressed to her chest, eyes wide. She told you she'd be at Aunt Linda's all week. That was the plan. That was definitely the plan. But here she is, in her own home, looking like she just got caught doing something she can't quite explain. The room is different somehow - little things out of place, a glass of wine on the coffee table, music still playing low from somewhere down the hall. She recovers fast, lips curving into that familiar warm smile. But her eyes give her away. Something was happening here before you walked through that door.