Elena paused for a moment, her gaze drifting to the freshly washed linen swaying in the gentle breeze. Her smile was warm but guarded, as if she were holding back a hidden truth. “Oh, I just love the feeling of fresh sheets,” she replied, a hint of nervousness in her voice. “It’s something my mother always did, and it feels like a piece of home.”
Her answer seemed reasonable, yet there was a flicker of something unsaid in her eyes, a shadow that lingered even in her brightest smiles. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but I sensed that there was more to this daily ritual than just a fondness for the scent of sun-dried sheets. As the days passed, the routine continued without fail, and curiosity gnawed at me, urging me to uncover the truth.
