By the middle of the third week, Elora was moving much better.
She still needed her walking aid.
But she could get from the bedroom to the kitchen without calling me for assistance.
Her doctor was pleased with her progress.
During one appointment, he mentioned that she might be able to return home within another week or two.
I was happy for her.
I also felt a little sad.
The house had become less lonely with someone else around.
There was always a light on in the living room.
Someone to talk to while preparing dinner.
Someone who asked how my day had gone.
I hadn't realized how much I missed those little things.
But Elora's unusual questions continued.
One Saturday morning, I was making coffee when she entered the kitchen.
"Claire, are you going somewhere today?"
I turned toward her.
"Not really. Why?"
"Just asking."
She looked at the coffee machine.
"Will you be home this afternoon?"
"I thought I might go shopping."
Her eyes moved toward me.
"How long will you be gone?"
I laughed.
"Elora, I'm only going to the supermarket."
She smiled.
"I know, sweetheart."
Then she returned to the bedroom.
I stood beside the kitchen counter, holding my coffee.
It was a strange question.
Not an unreasonable one.
But it was becoming familiar.
I began noticing that she seemed more relaxed whenever I told her I would be away for several hours.
And whenever I changed my plans, she became unsettled.
There were no arguments.
No accusations.
Nothing I could point to.
Just small reactions.
A sudden silence.
A question repeated.
A smile that disappeared too quickly.
I told myself not to be suspicious.
She was recovering from an injury.
She was living in a house that wasn't hers.
Perhaps she simply wanted to know when she would have the place to herself.
I understood the need for privacy.
I wanted to give her that.
One afternoon, I decided to visit a friend after work.
I mentioned it during breakfast.
"I might be home a little later tonight."
Elora nodded.
"That's nice."
"Do you need anything before I go?"
"No, thank you."
I left as usual.
But my friend canceled our plans at the last minute.
I stopped at a pharmacy, bought some groceries, and returned home earlier than I had expected.
When I opened the front door, I heard movement in the hallway.
"Elora?"
There was no answer.
I walked farther inside.
A moment later, she came out of the spare bedroom.
Her face changed when she saw me.
Again.
"Oh, Claire. You're back."
I put my shopping bags on the kitchen counter.
"Plans changed."
She looked at the clock.
Then she looked at me.
"I thought you were going to be out longer."
I paused.
"Did you need something?"
"No."
She looked away.
"I was just surprised."
I didn't say anything.
I put the groceries away.
But something had started bothering me.
I couldn't explain it.
Elora had been in my life for years.
She had supported me during my divorce.
She had never given me a reason to question her intentions.
And yet, I was beginning to feel as though there was something happening inside my own house that I wasn't supposed to know about.
That feeling made me uncomfortable.
I didn't like it.
So I tried to ignore it.
A few days later, I found her sitting at the dining table with a cup of tea.
She was looking toward the front window.
I noticed that the curtains were slightly open.
"Everything okay?"
She turned.
"Yes, dear."
I sat opposite her.
"Are you getting bored staying inside?"
"A little."
"Maybe we could go somewhere this weekend. Once you're comfortable enough, I can take you for lunch."
Her expression softened.
"That would be lovely."
We talked about the restaurant we used to visit years earlier.
She remembered the little bakery next door.
I remembered how she always ordered the same dessert.
For a few minutes, everything felt normal.
Then her eyes moved toward my handbag.
"Do you still keep your work schedule in there?"
I frowned.
"What?"
"Your schedule. I was wondering whether you still write everything down."
I laughed.
"Oh, no. Most things are on my phone now."
She nodded.
"That makes sense."
I looked at her.
"Why do you ask?"
She lifted her cup.
"No particular reason."
The conversation ended.
I wish I could say I recognized the importance of that moment.
I didn't.
I was too busy trying to be a good person.
Too busy telling myself that kindness meant not questioning someone who had once shown me kindness.
Looking back, that was probably my biggest mistake.
Not helping her.
Helping her was never the mistake.
It was assuming that because someone had been good to me in the past, I never needed to pay attention to what they were doing in the present.
The fourth week arrived.
Elora's recovery had improved considerably.
She could walk short distances with her aid.
She was able to dress herself.
She could prepare a simple breakfast without assistance.
Her doctor said she was making good progress.
I began discussing arrangements for her return home.
She listened quietly.
"I think you'll be much more comfortable in your own bedroom now," I told her.
She nodded.
"Yes. I suppose it's time."
I expected her to sound excited.
Instead, she looked down.
"Have I been here too long?"
I immediately shook my head.
"Not at all."
"I don't want to take advantage of you."
"Elora, you've never been a burden."
She smiled.
But something about the expression made me feel sorry for her.
I wondered whether she was afraid of returning to an empty house.
I knew how that felt.
After my divorce, there had been evenings when I would sit at the kitchen table and listen to the refrigerator humming.
I had become used to the silence eventually.
But getting used to it didn't mean I liked it.
"You're welcome to visit whenever you want," I told her.
She looked at me.
"Would you really mean that?"
"Of course."
She reached over and touched my arm.
"You're very kind."
That evening, I helped her organize the medication she needed to take home.
I wrote the instructions on a piece of paper and placed it in a small envelope.
She watched me carefully.
"You always think of everything."
"I just don't want you forgetting anything."
She smiled.
Then she asked whether I would be working the following Monday.
I looked up.
"Yes. Why?"
"Nothing."
I folded the paper.
"Are you expecting someone?"
"No, dear."
She said it quickly.
I didn't question her.
The next morning, she asked whether I would be home during lunch.
I told her I had a meeting.
She nodded.
Later that day, I discovered she had asked me almost the same question again.
What time would I leave?
Would I come straight home?
Would I be working the entire afternoon?
I began feeling uneasy.
But I still couldn't bring myself to confront her.
I kept thinking about the woman who had called me after my divorce.
The woman who had told me I deserved better.
The woman who had refused to defend her cheating son.
I wanted to believe that woman was exactly who she appeared to be.
Perhaps she was.
Perhaps there was an explanation.
I didn't know.
And I wouldn't find out until after she had already left my house.
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: She Hugged Me Before Returning Home, but My Neighbor Arrived With an Old Shoebox That Changed Everything
I Thought My Marriage Was the Only Thing My Ex-Husband’s Family Had Taken From Me, Until His Mother Needed My Help
Part 3 of 20
