Chapter 3

 Abigail

 “What are you doing in here?” I asked sharply, my voice cutting through the quiet. 

Susanna held up one of my scarves against her arm, admiring it. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” she said, waving a hand. “I’m just getting settled. I’ll be staying in this room.” 

I blinked, the words taking a moment to sink in. “Excuse me?” 

Her grey eyes sparkled with amusement. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? You and Conrad need to be close if I need anything, and my room is so far down the hall. It’s just more convenient for everyone if I stay here.” 

My pulse quickened, anger rising swiftly. “This is our room. I and Conrad’s. You don’t just decide to move in without even asking.” 

Susanna smirked, unfazed by the heat in my voice. “I wasn’t asking. Conrad said I could stay here.” 

“Did he?” I said, my tone ice-cold. “I find that hard to believe.” 

Our voices rose, each word louder than the last, until the door creaked open behind us. Conrad entered the room, his expression wary as he took in the scene. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, glancing between them. 

I immediately turned to him. “Susanna says she’s moving into our room. Tell me that’s not true.” 

They shared a look I didn’t fully understand. Conrad’s brows furrowed and Susanna quickly plastered on an innocent smile.

“I just thought it would be easier for everyone, Conrad,” she said. “But if it’s such a big deal…” 

Conrad sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Susanna, the guest room is perfectly fine. You’ll be comfortable there, and if you need anything at all, you can call us. Okay?” 

For a moment, Susanna’s smile wavered, but she nodded reluctantly. “If you insist.” She brushed past me, her shoulder barely missing mine as she left the room. 

I exhaled, the tension in my shoulders lessening slightly. “Thank you,” I said quietly, looking up at Conrad. 

“She’s just… going through a lot right now,” he replied, his tone apologetic. “Let’s try to be patient with her.” 

I wanted to snap back and tell him how much patience I had already shown, but I held my tongue. There was no point in arguing when this victory didn’t even feel like a victory at all. 

In the days that followed, things settled into a fragile normalcy. None of us spoke about the fruit platter incident and Susanna remained in the guest room, but her presence was still as overwhelming as ever. 

Every day, it seemed there was a new request or complaint.

“Abigail, could you make me tea? The way you do it is just so much better than mine.”

“Do you mind ironing my dress? I’m just too tired today.”

“Would you and Conrad mind keeping it down at night? I’m having trouble sleeping.” 

Despite myself, I managed to keep her composure. Each time, I would remind myself that Susanna had suffered a terrible loss and that our mother-in-law was too ill to help her. But the real strain came from how Susanna always seemed to insert herself into moments I hoped to break my news to Conrad. Being in my own home was now suffocating.

Finally, the day my stitches would get taken out arrived.

The morning sun bathed the front yard as I took cautious steps on the paved walkway, testing the strength of my foot.  Although the injury was healing, it was still tender. I wanted to make sure I could handle the trip to the hospital without needing assistance.

The sound of the front door opening pulled me from my thoughts. I turned to see Susanna walking toward me. Her normal air of entitlement was gone, replaced by friendliness. That was unusual enough to catch my attention. 

“Abigail,” she said, “I was wondering if you could help me with something.” 

I raised an eyebrow, already wary. “What is it?” 

She clasped her hands in front of her. “I’ve been craving omelette and toast. If it’s not too much trouble, could you make me some? I’d do it myself, but…” 

Her excuse trailed off, but I didn’t need her to finish. What struck me was the way she asked—so respectful, almost sweet. It was so unlike her that I immediately knew there was more to it. My eyes darted upward, and sure enough, Conrad was on the balcony, his figure barely visible behind the curtain. He was watching us, thinking I hadn’t noticed. 

Of course. 

I sighed, biting back my irritation. If I refused, I would look petty and unkind. If I agreed, I’d be playing into whatever game Susanna was clearly trying to win. “Fine,” I said curtly. 

“Thank you,” Susanna said, smiling warmly as if we were the best of friends. 

In the kitchen, I cooked the simple breakfast, my movements slower than usual because of my foot. By the time I brought the plates to the table, Conrad had joined us, his expression one of approval. The three of us ate in silence, the eggs tasteless in my mouth despite the effort I’d put into them. 

After breakfast, I left for the hospital to have my stitches removed. Sitting in the examination room, I finally felt a moment of peace as the nurse carefully cleaned my foot. The ache was less intense now, and I allowed myself to think about the future—about the baby, about the moment I’d finally get to tell Conrad the news. 

The nurse finished and left, saying the doctor would be back soon to check on me. I leaned back in the chair, enjoying the quiet until a sudden commotion broke the stillness. Voices rose in the hallway, and I instinctively got up, hobbling to the door despite the soreness in my foot. 

The sight stopped me cold. 

Conrad was rushing down the hallway, carrying Susanna in his arms. Her face was distressed and her expression was pained.

“Conrad!” I called, trying to catch his attention.

But he didn’t even glance in my direction. His gaze was fixed solely on Susanna, his face etched with concern. His focus was entirely on her as he disappeared into a room further down the hall. I watched him follow the nurses into an examination room, disappearing from view.

I stood there for a moment, frozen, before going back inside. My mind raced with questions. What had happened to Susanna? Why was Conrad here? 

My phone buzzed in my pocket, jolting me from my thoughts. I fumbled for my phone, seeing Conrad’s name flash on the screen.

“Hello?” I said, my voice curious. 

“Abigail,” he said, his tone urgent. “What did you put in that omelette?”