Most Sundays, I don’t worry. They go to her room, close the door, and spend the afternoon talking, laughing, or working on school assignments. And I remind myself that trust is something you give consistently, not only when it’s easy.
But that day, the giggles softened into hushed tones. The door stayed shut a little longer than usual. My thoughts started to wander into that uneasy place between caution and curiosity.
I tried to ignore the little voice whispering in my ear, but it grew louder with each passing minute. And before I fully realized it, I was already walking down the hallway, telling myself I was just checking in. Nothing more.
When I reached her door, I paused. My hand hovered over the knob for a moment, and then, very gently, I pushed it open just an inch.
Soft music was playing. The sunlight from her window spilled over the floor in a warm stripe.
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