Family was supposed to mean something.
The first few days were completely normal.
We ate dinner together.
We watched television.
Rachel helped me cook.
Daniel joked with her the same way he always had.
I didn’t think anything of it.
Then one evening, I walked into the kitchen and found them talking.
They stopped.
Not gradually.
Immediately.
Rachel was standing beside the counter with her arms folded.
Daniel was leaning against the refrigerator.
When they saw me, Rachel smiled.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Daniel said.
I looked at Rachel.
She shrugged.
“We were just talking.”
“About?”
She laughed.
“Nothing important.”
I smiled and reached for a glass.
It was such a small thing.
So small that I almost forgot about it.
Almost.
A few days later, I noticed something else.
Rachel had started dressing differently when Daniel was home.
Nothing inappropriate.
Nothing I could accuse her of.
But somehow she seemed to put more effort into her appearance.
Her hair was always done.
She wore perfume around the house.
She would change into nicer clothes before Daniel came home, even though she had spent the afternoon in sweatpants.
I told myself I was being ridiculous.
Rachel had always cared about how she looked.
