She died a wife, Returned a flame
But I was sure she was suspecting me for the wrong thing, thinking I had interest in her darling husband.
Well, I do but not in the way she thought.
I was so lost in thought that I almost didn’t hear the soft footsteps behind me.
“Rachel,” a voice murmured.
I turned. It was Martha, one of the older maids. She had been in the mansion longer than most, her hair streaked with gray, her posture weary but firm. She rarely spoke, and when she did, people listened.
“Yes?” I asked, setting the apron aside.
She glanced over her shoulder before lowering herself into the chair across from me. Her eyes were sharp, her voice barely a whisper.
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