After the mail incident, belief was no longer an option. I started tracking their visits and leaving before they arrived. Let them play house with their son—I needed space.
Then my friend canceled brunch, and the universe sent me home at 1 p.m. to find Priya elbow-deep in my spice cabinet, tossing out jars while announcing expiration dates like a judge. Rajan sat at the table, tapping numbers into a spreadsheet I’d never seen. Aarav stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes down.
“We noticed expired items last time,” Priya said, as if she owned the place. “And your spending’s been high, so Rajan is helping with a budget.”
“My what?” I turned to Aarav. “Did you give them access to our account?”
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