dishonesty.
He resembled any other hardworking young adult struggling to cover his expenses.
Even so, I couldn’t shake my uneasiness.
Something felt unusual, though I couldn’t identify exactly what.
During the next fortnight, my worries intensified.
Dorothy no longer relaxed outdoors, took her customary walks, or spent time tending her garden.
In fact, I almost never caught sight of her.
Alex, meanwhile, appeared regularly, arriving and departing at different hours.
Then I discovered he possessed a house key.
He would approach her front entrance, unlock it, and step inside with the familiarity of someone who lived there.
My attempts to contact Dorothy usually went unanswered.
Instead, brief messages appeared on my phone.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
On another occasion, I received:
“Everything is okay. Alex is helping me.”
Although the words sounded comforting, something about them seemed wrong.
Dorothy had always enjoyed writing lengthy texts filled with little
