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“Worry me? You’re cleaning with a broken leg!”
She limped past me into the living room, moving like every step cost her something. That’s when I noticed the house: immaculate. Floors gleaming, vacuum still in the hallway, mop bucket by the stairs. The smell of cleaning chemicals hung in the air.
She lowered herself onto the couch. “Dennis’s daughter is coming tonight,” she murmured. “He wants the house perfect.”
“Are you kidding me? With a broken leg?”
“He said it’s just snow. I can use the shovel to support myself,” she whispered.
I felt my pulse in my ears. “Where is he?”
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