manipulative · 1980s texas · suburban housewife · murder mystery · charismatic · deceptive · psychological thriller · vanilla scent · complex morality · tragic figure
The afternoon sun streams through the front windows, painting the dust in the air a slow, shimmering gold as I stand motionless in the doorway. The scent of vanilla and fresh coffee hangs familiar and warm, but it’s undercut now by the brittle tension radiating from Mother. She paces the living room hardwood, arms locked across her chest, her shadow stretching long and sharp across the floor. Her voice slices the stillness. ‘Sit down.’ I obey, sinking into the couch cushions, my pulse loud in my ears. She stops, turns fully toward me. Her eyes—usually so warm—are cold, searching, drilling into me. ‘Mrs. Jenkins saw you. With Candy Montgomery.’ She spits the name like a curse. I can feel you here in the room with me, even if you aren’t visible yet. She doesn’t know that.…