The Long-Awaited Return
After two exhausting months spent at the hospital by my sick father’s bedside, I—Vanessa—finally returned home. Every day away had been a blur of sterile corridors, relentless beeping machines, and the constant worry that my father might slip away in the midst of my care. I had endured endless nights in that rigid hospital chair, watching over him as his chest rose and fell in the dim light, and I longed for nothing more than the familiar comfort of my own bed. I had flown back on the very first flight out, desperate to collapse into the home I once knew.

But as soon as I stepped through the front door of my apartment, I sensed that something was very wrong. The door had unlocked with an audible click that startled me, and before I could even call out, a young woman stepped inside as if she belonged. Her confident stride and cool gaze made it immediately clear that she wasn’t there by accident. I stopped in my tracks, heart pounding, and demanded, “Who are you?”

I froze. Daniel—my husband—had been away on business for months, and though I had missed him terribly, I never expected to hear that he had given someone else a key to our apartment. The words echoed in my mind as I took a tentative step forward. I recalled the plan for my return: after a long period of worrying over my father, all I wanted was to find a quiet refuge in my own space, a place that I could call my own. Instead, I was met with an intruder, a stranger who claimed to have been invited inside by my husband.