Nearly four months into the job, she began to sense that something wasn’t right.
The homeowner, Zachary Lowell, was almost never seen outside his bedroom. At thirty-three, he was a successful tech founder, yet his fragile health had become a quiet topic among staff. Brianna avoided gossip, but she couldn’t ignore what she witnessed firsthand.
“Good morning, Mr. Lowell,” she said one day while dusting.
He lifted his head weakly and forced a smile. “Morning, Brianna. Sorry you have to see me like this.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” she said kindly. “Are you feeling any improvement?”
He shook his head. “No. The doctors say everything looks fine—tests, scans, all normal. But I feel awful all the time.”
As he spoke, Brianna glanced around. Heavy curtains shut out all sunlight. The windows were never opened. The walls were covered in thick, expensive fabric panels.
“Do you ever open the windows?” she asked cautiously.
“I can’t,” Zachary said. “Cold air makes my chest hurt.”
The answer lingered in her mind.
Over the following weeks, she noticed a pattern. On rare days when Zachary worked downstairs or took slow walks in the garden, his color improved and his voice strengthened. But whenever he returned to the bedroom for long periods, his condition declined again.
Her heart sank.
She grew up in an old apartment building plagued by leaks. She remembered neighbors constantly sick—headaches, exhaustion, unexplained illnesses. Her aunt had once warned her that hidden moisture was dangerous because it destroyed health quietly over time.
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