The first few days passed without any problems.
Elora settled into the spare bedroom.
I adjusted my morning routine around her medication and appointments.
My work schedule was fairly predictable.
I usually left in the morning and returned later in the afternoon.
Some days I worked from home.
Other days I had errands to finish before coming back.
I tried to keep things comfortable for both of us.
I didn't want her to feel like a patient.
I also didn't want her to feel like she had to ask permission every time she needed something.
So I made a few small changes.
I moved the cups to a lower kitchen shelf.
I placed her medication beside a glass of water.
I kept some snacks near her bed.
And I made sure she had the television remote within reach.
She thanked me for everything.
Sometimes too much.
"You're doing far more than you need to."
I would shake my head.
"It's fine."
"You have your own life."
"I know."
"You shouldn't have to spend your evenings looking after me."
I smiled.
"Then stop apologizing and eat your dinner."
She laughed.
It became a small joke between us.
I would tell her to stop apologizing.
She would promise to try.
Then she would apologize again.
The first week was mostly about helping her recover.
I drove her to a medical appointment.
I waited while the doctor checked her leg.
I listened carefully to the instructions about rest and movement.
On the way home, she asked me to stop at a pharmacy.
She needed another prescription filled.
I parked outside while she stayed in the car.
When I returned, I placed the medicine in her bag.
"Everything okay?"
"Yes, sweetheart."
She looked out of the window.
Then she asked something unexpected.
"What time do you usually finish work?"
I glanced at her.
"It depends on the day."
"Do you normally come straight home?"
"Most days."
She nodded.
I didn't think much about it.
Perhaps she was trying to understand how much time she would have alone.
I imagined being in her position.
Depending on another person for meals, transportation, and even simple things around the house would have made me uncomfortable too.
So I answered her questions without hesitation.
The next morning, I left for work at my usual time.
Before I went, I asked whether she needed anything.
"No, darling. I'm perfectly comfortable."
I put a bottle of water on her bedside table.
Then I reminded her to keep her phone nearby.
She smiled.
"You sound like my mother."
"Someone has to make sure you behave."
She laughed.
I closed the front door behind me.
That afternoon, I returned home later than expected.
Elora was sitting in the living room.
She had a blanket over her legs and a book open in her lap.
"How was your day?" she asked.
"Busy."
I put my bag down.
"Did you eat?"
"Yes."
"Did you take your medication?"
"Yes."
I smiled.
"Good."
She closed her book.
Then she asked whether I had been at work all day.
I told her I had.
She nodded and looked toward the kitchen.
Nothing about the conversation seemed unusual.
But there were little questions like that almost every day.
Sometimes she wanted to know when I planned to go shopping.
Sometimes she asked whether I had any appointments after work.
Once, while I was preparing breakfast, she asked whether I would be away for the entire afternoon.
I looked over my shoulder.
"Why?"
"Just wondering."
"Do you need anything?"
"No. I was only asking."
I returned to making breakfast.
I thought perhaps she was trying to plan her day around mine.
There was nothing unreasonable about that.
At least, that's what I told myself.
By the end of the first week, I had become used to having her around.
We developed a routine.
I made breakfast.
She took her medication.
I went to work.
When I returned, I prepared dinner.
Afterward, we sometimes watched television together.
We rarely discussed the past.
I liked that.
Elora never brought up Shane.
She never asked whether I had met anyone.
She never questioned why I hadn't remarried.
Our conversations stayed comfortable.
One evening, she asked about my garden.
I told her I had been meaning to plant some flowers near the back fence.
She suggested a few varieties.
Then she asked whether I planned to work outside that weekend.
"Maybe Sunday."
She looked at me.
"Will you be home most of the day?"
I laughed.
"Are you planning to send me somewhere?"
She smiled.
"Of course not."
I didn't think anything of it.
That weekend, I spent the morning cleaning the kitchen.
Elora stayed in her room for most of it.
I brought her tea around eleven.
She was sitting on the bed with her phone in her hand.
"Would you like something to eat?"
"Not yet."
I placed the cup on the table.
She looked toward the window.
"Are you going out later?"
"I might pick up a few groceries."
"How long will you be gone?"
I raised an eyebrow.
"Not very long. Why?"
She looked down at her phone.
"No reason."
I smiled and left.
A few minutes later, I heard the bedroom door close.
I assumed she wanted to rest.
The following week brought another medical appointment.
Her recovery was progressing.
The doctor said she still needed to be careful, but things were moving in the right direction.
I was relieved.
Elora seemed relieved too.
On the drive home, she thanked me for taking her.
I told her there was no need.
Then she asked about my work schedule again.
"Are you working tomorrow?"
"Yes."
"All day?"
"Probably."
She looked out the window.
I waited for her to say something else.
She didn't.
I began to notice another thing.
Whenever I told her I might return early, she seemed less relaxed.
The first time happened on a Wednesday.
I had expected to stay at work until late afternoon.
But one of my appointments was canceled.
I finished earlier than planned.
When I opened the front door, I heard movement in the spare bedroom.
Then everything became quiet.
"Elora?"
She appeared in the hallway a moment later.
Her expression changed when she saw me.
"Oh. You're home."
I smiled.
"Finished early."
She looked toward the bedroom.
"That's nice."
But she didn't sound particularly happy.
I asked whether she was feeling all right.
"Of course."
"Did something happen?"
"No, darling."
She returned to the bedroom.
I stood in the hallway for a few seconds.
Then I went to the kitchen.
Perhaps she had simply been resting.
Perhaps I had interrupted something.
I didn't want to make a problem out of an ordinary moment.
The next time was more noticeable.
I had planned to stop at the grocery store after work.
Instead, I came straight home because I had forgotten my wallet at the house that morning.
When I opened the door, Elora was standing near the spare bedroom.
She looked at me.
Then she looked toward the hallway.
For a brief moment, she seemed almost startled.
"You're back."
"Yes. I forgot something."
"Oh."
She stepped aside.
I walked toward the kitchen.
I noticed that the little table beside her bed had been moved.
It was closer to the window than before.
I didn't know why.
I also noticed that her handbag was sitting on the floor beside the wardrobe.
I thought perhaps she had been looking for something.
I continued with my day.
Later, while preparing dinner, I asked whether she needed help reaching anything.
"No, sweetheart."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
She looked at me for a moment.
Then she asked whether I would be working the following morning.
I turned off the stove.
"Elora, you ask me that quite often."
She smiled awkwardly.
"Do I?"
"A little."
She lowered her eyes.
"I'm sorry. I suppose I'm trying to know when I'll have the house to myself."
Her answer made sense.
I felt guilty immediately.
"Don't worry about it."
"I know you need your privacy too."
I reached for the plates.
"You're not doing anything wrong."
She nodded.
And I left the conversation there.
Looking back, I can see how easily I accepted every explanation.
I wanted her to feel comfortable.
I wanted her to know that she wasn't a burden.
I never considered that there might be another reason for her questions.
The middle of the second week passed.
Elora began walking more confidently.
She could move around the bedroom without needing me to help every time.
She still needed assistance with certain things.
But she was becoming more independent.
One afternoon, I came home with a small bag of groceries.
She was sitting on the edge of her bed.
There was a folded piece of paper on the bedside table.
She quickly placed it inside a drawer when she noticed me.
I stopped at the doorway.
"Did you need something?"
"No."
I looked at the drawer.
Then at her.
"Everything okay?"
"Yes."
I nodded.
I didn't ask about the paper.
It wasn't my business.
I put the groceries away and started preparing dinner.
That evening, she seemed quieter than usual.
I asked whether her leg was hurting.
She said it wasn't.
I offered to bring her something warm to drink.
She refused.
For the first time since she had arrived, I felt a small distance between us.
I couldn't explain it.
She was still polite.
Still grateful.
Still the same woman who had sat with me after my divorce.
But something about her behavior felt different.
And I was beginning to notice it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: I Kept Finding Reasons to Ignore the Little Things Because I Trusted Her More Than I Trusted My Own Instincts
I Thought I Was Simply Helping a Woman Who Had Never Stopped Treating Me Like Family, But Something About Her Request Stayed With Me
Part 2 of 20
