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Linda recovered fast. That was the first thing that felt wrong.
Two days after she moved in, she stopped clutching her chest.
The pills came out only when she thought I was watching.
On the third morning, I woke up to the sound of drawers being opened.
I walked into the kitchen and froze. Linda had emptied one of my cabinets. All my plates were stacked on the counter.
She was wiping shelves with my dish towel like she’d lived there for years.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
She didn’t even turn around.
“Organizing. You had things everywhere.”
“They were in cabinets.”
I leaned against the doorway.
She smiled over her shoulder.
“For now.”
That should’ve been my cue. I know that now.
By the end of the week, she had opinions about everything.
“You spend too much on ingredients.”
“You shouldn’t leave lights on like that.”
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