Her suitcase smelled faintly like disinfectant and hospitals, the kind of smell that makes your stomach tighten before your brain catches up.
I took the bag from Michael on instinct. I didn’t even get a proper hello before he steered me toward the hallway, voice low and rehearsed.
“Help Mom settle in. I need to talk to you now.”
He pointed at the downstairs bedroom I’d scrubbed the day before, like he’d planned this move long before the taxi ever arrived.
Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed, eyes heavy, and when Michael turned away for one second, she grabbed my wrist cold fingers, surprisingly strong and pressed something into my palm.
A small brass key. Warm from her hand. Old enough to have history. Her lips barely moved. “Keep it,” she whispered. “Don’t let him see.”
I walked back into the living room and saw the second suitcase. Michael’s. Perfectly packed. Wheels facing the door. Then he said it.
