“Yes, I must have forgotten,” she murmured. As she turned back toward her car, the world seemed to blur a little. A trip, she thought numbly. But why wouldn’t Lisa tell her? Why not even a quick text? By the time she reached home, her worry had twisted into self-doubt.
She replayed every conversation, every small moment of tension. The day of the vase, the look in Lisa’s eyes, the cool tone in her voice. Maybe she had gone too far. Maybe this was her fault. That night, she sat at the kitchen table with the brochure still beside her teacup. The house was silent except for the faint ticking of the clock.