I fell suddenly and seriously ill. During that time, the only person who came to see me was my daughter-in-law. For seven days straight, she showed up with fresh groceries, made homemade chicken soup, fed me, cleaned the house, and quietly left.
I never left my bedroom. But when I finally felt well enough to get up, I was stunned. As I stepped into the hallway, it hit me—Sofia had been… redecorating my house.
At first, I thought maybe I was still disoriented, imagining things. But no—the heavy brown curtains had been swapped for light cream ones. The dusty old picture frames were now shiny silver. Even the chipped vase that had belonged to my late husband had been replaced by a sleek glass one filled with fresh lilies.
I steadied myself against the wall, feeling dizzy. My thoughts were spinning. Why would Sofia do this without asking?
She had been married to my son, Calen, for three years. Always kind, always courteous—but we weren’t close. I held onto traditional ways, and she was more modern. We never fought, but there was always a careful distance between us.
Still, I couldn’t deny that she looked after me while I was sick. That soup may have been what got me through.
I wandered slowly through the house, noticing more changes. The wool rugs were gone. The messy bookshelf had been neatly organized. Even the kitchen gleamed. The whole house looked cleaner, sleeker—almost unrecognizable.
When Sofia showed up that afternoon with a basket of fruit, I finally brought it up.
“Sofia… I see you’ve done some rearranging.”
She looked slightly embarrassed. “Yes. I hope you don’t mind. I thought it might lift your spirits—help with your recovery. A fresh space can make a big difference.”
I watched her closely. Her tone was warm, but unsure. “Some of Leonard’s things are missing,” I said quietly.
She bit her lip. “I didn’t throw them out. I packed them carefully in the attic. I just thought… maybe it was time for a small reset. A new beginning.”
Leonard, my husband, had been gone five years. I hadn’t touched his belongings since. Maybe she meant well—but it still felt like something sacred had been disturbed.
I nodded, though my chest felt heavy.
As the days passed and I got stronger, Sofia continued to visit—bringing meals, tidying up, sitting with me. She seemed sincere. Yet deep down, I had an uneasy feeling I couldn’t explain.
One evening, while she was in the kitchen making tea, my phone buzzed. It was a message from my friend Marla.
“Decided to sell, huh? The house looks amazing in the photos!”
Sell? What was she talking about?
I called her immediately.
“Your house,” she said. “It’s listed online. Gorgeous new photos. They’re even scheduling open houses next week.”
My heart dropped. I hadn’t put my house on the market.
I waited for Sofia to return to the living room. My hands were shaking.
“Sofia…”
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