I knew something was wrong when Sophie wouldn’t look at me across the dinner table. Then she gave me a warning I couldn’t ignore, and a crash beneath the floor told me there was more happening in that house than I’d seen.
Sophie slipped me a napkin under the table.
Three words were written inside.
“Don’t leave alone.”
Before I could ask what she meant, something crashed beneath the floor.
I looked toward Sophie.
She had gone white.
Six months earlier, I’d cried through most of her wedding.
Sophie was 27, but I’d helped raise her after my sister died when Sophie was nine.
Seeing her marry Daniel felt like watching her rebuild the family she’d lost.
Daniel seemed perfect for her.
He was attentive, successful, and close to his parents.
His mother, Margaret, hugged me at the wedding and said, “Sophie is ours now.”
At the time, I’d thought it was sweet.
That Sunday, Daniel invited me to dinner.
The table was covered with roast chicken, potatoes, vegetables, and fresh bread.
Everyone sat down.
Everyone except Sophie.
She had just pulled out the chair beside me when Margaret looked up.
“Sophie, the kitchen.”
Sophie froze.
“I thought I’d eat first tonight.”
