At that mont, I felt as if I had entered a state of malaise, my mood oppressively heavy.
Betty and Michael were out shopping, buying things—what exactly, it hardly mattered.
Impulse buys are common, after all.
Yet, these ordinary occurrences clung to my psyche, nagging at .
Was it ti to see a therapist?
Slowly, I found myself at the entrance of our neighborhood.
If Betty and Michael had left the mall by then, they should have been ho by now, especially since I walked back.
I checked the ti; it was 3:32 PM, almost ti for Betty to start dinner.
Standing at the entrance to the complex, unsure of where to go, I finally decided to head ho, claiming I felt unwell and had left work early.
As I approached the community dumpster, I rembered the outfit I had bought less than an hour ago.
Without any sentint, I stripped off the hat, glasses, mask, and scarf, tossing them all into the bin.
Reaching our front door, I took a deep breath and adjusted my mood.
Years of being a journalist, going undercover countless tis, had taught how to act and handle any sudden situations.
Yet, it took a while to regulate my emotions this ti.
I took out my keys and unlocked the door, but the scene inside was exactly as it had been at noon—no one was ho, and the shopping bags from the clothing store were still on the bed, untouched.
They still hadn't returned.
Where could they have gone?
After what felt like an eternity, about forty minutes, I checked the ti again.
It was well past the usual ti Betty started dinner; tonight's al would definitely be late.
Just then, the sound of keys turning in the lock echoed from outside.
The door opened, and Betty's figure appeared first.
"Hey... honey, why are you ho so early today?" Betty exclaid, startled upon seeing .
I didn't respond imdiately, my gaze fixated on her and Michael as they entered, particularly their hands, which were notably empty.
I looked up at Betty and Michael.
Betty averted her eyes briefly, while Michael seed indifferent, as usual.
Silently, my mind short-circuited, unable to process the situation.
Earlier at the mall, I had seen them carrying nurous bags.
Why were their hands empty now?
Where had all the items gone?
Had they returned them, or...
"Honey, what's wrong? Why aren't you talking?" Betty's voice snapped out of my thoughts.
She seed flustered, a hint of nervousness and fear in her tone.
"It's nothing, just not feeling well. I took so ti off to rest..." I turned away, settling onto the sofa.
"What's wrong? Where do you feel unwell?" Betty rushed over, placing her palm on my forehead.
"It's nothing, probably just lack of rest..." My mind was in turmoil, and Betty's touch sparked an inexplicable irritation within .
I shook my head slightly, moving her hand away.
"Oh... then I'll start cooking... You should lie down in bed for a while..." Perhaps sensing my displeasure, Betty's voice trembled slightly.
After advising , she turned and headed to the kitchen.
Michael also told to rest in the bedroom before he retreated to his own room.
I got up and slowly walked to my bedroom.
Although I had lied about feeling unwell, now I genuinely felt weak and disoriented.
Lying in bed, my thoughts were a jumbled ss.
First, they had clearly been shopping earlier—where had all those purchases gone?
Their hands were empty upon returning.
Moreover, the panic and tension in Betty's eyes when she saw —previously, I attributed it to past incidents, but ti should have diminished these reactions, not intensified them.
"No guilt, no fear," as the saying goes.
Why the apparent increase in her anxiety?
In the past, familial bonds clouded my judgnt, but now, detaching myself, I used my journalistic instincts to scrutinize the situation, finding inconsistencies everywhere.
Was I overthinking, or were there indeed secrets I was unaware of?
Sounds of clattering pots and pans ca from the kitchen, leaving to wonder what Betty was preparing.
Should I confront her later?
If it turned out to be nothing, would my suspicions only serve to disturb the peace of our ho?
"Honey, dinner's ready..." Just as I was sorting through my thoughts, the bedroom door opened, and Betty's gentle voice called from the doorway, tinged with restraint.
"You guys go ahead, I'm not hungry..." I murmured, my eyes closed, my voice devoid of emotion.
"Honey, should I take you to the hospital?" Betty quickly ca to my side, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out to touch my forehead.
This ti, I didn't resist her touch.
"No, just eat. Let have so peace..." I spoke without opening my eyes.
"Oh..." Betty seed hesitant to speak further.
She stood up and slowly walked out of the bedroom, gently closing the door behind her.
The room fell silent, but I could hear Michael's quiet inquiry from the living room.
"What's wrong with Dad?" Michael asked cautiously.
"He's not feeling well..." Betty's voice was uncertain, but that was her reply.
Then the clinking of dishes resud, probably mother and son enjoying their hearty dinner, just like they did at lunch.
At this mont, my feelings were even worse than at noon.
Wasn't I hungry?
I was indeed very hungry, but my resentnt seed to grow as they enjoyed their al.
If Betty would stay with , skipping her al, or perhaps bring so food later, maybe I'd feel a bit better.
"You eat, I'm not really hungry either..." Just as this thought crossed my mind, Betty's voice ca from the living room, like a shot of adrenaline to my heart, making it beat vigorously again.
Then I heard the bedroom door open.
I could sll Betty's perfu mixed with the aroma of the food, which was indeed very enticing.
"Honey, have a little, okay? I made your favorite. Just try to eat a bit," I heard from the nightstand.
Betty must have placed the food there.
I opened my eyes and looked at Betty, then turned to glance at the food.
I must admit, Betty's gesture made feel a lot better.
"I know you're tired, maybe you don't have much strength. Shall I feed you?" Betty's eyes sparkled with joy when she saw open my eyes.
She quickly grabbed the bowl, scooped up so rice and vegetables with a spoon, blew on it gently, and brought it to my lips, her eyes filled with hope.
I hesitated, wondering whether to open my mouth.
As ti passed, the joy in Betty's eyes slowly faded, replaced by a tearful look as if she was about to cry.
I sighed and opened my mouth to eat the food.
What followed was a silent scene.
I truly felt like a patient, letting Betty feed bite by bite, the emotions in her eyes indescribable.
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