“Hey Marcus,” I said. “I’ve been meaning to ask. The woman at the bus stop. Someone told me she’s your sister.”
His friendly grin froze for half a second.
Then it returned, wider.
“Elena. Yeah. She’s been through a lot. Why?”
“I just wondered if she needed any help.”
“She has all the help she needs,” he said, his voice softer now, almost gentle. “From me. She’s fragile, Daniel. She imagines things. Strangers only make it worse.”
“I just thought.”
“Don’t think,” he said. “Stay away from her. For her sake.”
The door closed quietly in my face.
I tried calling a social worker the next morning. I explained what I’d seen, the dress, the tears, and the way Elena had begged me not to speak.
The woman on the phone was polite but distant.
“Sir, Mr. Marcus already filed extensive documentation. His sister has a documented history of delusional episodes.”
“But I talked to her. She was completely lucid.”
“I appreciate your concern. We’ll note it.”
She didn’t note anything. I could hear it in her voice.
That Friday, I waited at the bus stop until the streetlights flickered on. Elena never came.
I walked to her house with my heart hammering. Marcus opened the door, still smiling.
“Daniel. What a surprise.”
“Where’s Elena?”
“Resting. She’s had a rough week. She won’t be going outside anymore. Doctor’s orders.”
“Whose doctor?”
“Goodnight, Daniel.”
The door shut, and I stood on the porch feeling like I’d already lost.
I trudged back to my building, climbed the stairs, and pushed open my apartment door. Something white caught my eye on the floor.
An envelope. No name. Just slipped under the door.
I opened it slowly. Inside was a folded letter in delicate, careful handwriting.
“If you’re reading this, you noticed me. Thank you.”
My hands tightened around the page.
“My name is Elena. My fiancé, David, did not die. He left me at the altar after my brother Marcus told him terrible lies about me. Marcus did this because our parents’ inheritance only releases to me upon marriage, or upon my being declared mentally unfit.”
I sank onto the couch, reading faster.
“Marcus has controlled my money, my medication, and my movements for over a year. He tells everyone I am delusional. I am not. I wear the wedding dress every Friday because it is the one thing he cannot take from me without revealing himself. I have left this letter at 12 doors. You are not the first to receive it. But you may be the first to read it.”
The last lines made my chest ache…
READ MORE ON THE NEXT PAGE…
