He returned past nine next morning, weary with stubble. Spotting me at the table, he faltered, gaze shifty. "Um... Sophie had a bad night. Took hours." Voice raw. I stirred cold oatmeal, silent. Air thickened.
Her Revenge
Days later, evening. Mark arrived punctually, bearing fruit. We ate wordlessly. Suddenly, the doorbell screamed—frantic, hammering at our hearts. Mark set chopsticks down. Sophie stood at the door, pale, eyes swollen and red, hair disheveled.
An Uninvited Guest
Flannel pajamas, bare feet in slippers. Seeing Mark, she trembled, tears bursting like a dam. "Brother..." Sobbed, she flung herself into his arms, clutching his waist, shaking violently. Mark reflexively patted her back. "Sophie? What happened? Don't worry, I'm here..."
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