DECEPTION

Ch. 19: The Concealed Reality.

As I walked into my empty home that evening, a sense of unease settled in. My mind was reeling, trying to process everything that had transpired. My mother's absence felt palpable, and I couldn't shake off the feeling of vulnerability.

I collapsed onto my bed, attempting to gather my thoughts. The nausea that had been lingering all day was unsettling. Was I really alright? The events unfolding around me seemed suspicious, and my instincts were on high alert.

Mrs. Smith's sudden interest in my well-being was particularly unnerving. Her fixation on my health and diet bordered on obsessive. I recalled the conversation we had earlier:

"I heard about your mom; she's in a coma. I'm so sorry, dear,"

Mrs. Smith had said, her voice dripping with sympathy.

But her expression betrayed her words. Behind the façade of concern, I detected a hint of satisfaction, a sense of accomplishment. It was as if she knew something I didn't.

"You should visit more frequently," she suggested, her eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity.

"I'll introduce you to someone who's curious to meet you."

Her generosity was overwhelming – gifts, offers of help, and even her driver to take me home. But beneath the kindness, I sensed an ulterior motive.

"Is everything okay, Mrs. Smith?"

I asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Of course, dear. I just want to ensure you're taken care of,"

She replied, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

As I lay on my bed, replaying our conversation, a nagging feeling persisted. What did Mrs. Smith stand to gain from her sudden interest in me? And what was the true nature of her "plan"?

Determined to uncover the truth, I made a mental note to investigate further.

I continued to visit Mrs. Smith frequently, cautious not to arouse suspicion. One evening, she invited me to a family dinner, where I discovered a shocking truth: Mr. Raymond, her son, was none other than Edward, a name familiar to me.

As our eyes met, I masked my surprise, careful not to raise any eyebrows. The chairman joined us, and I recalled his close relationship with my father. My investigation had reached a critical point; I couldn't trust anyone yet.

The chairman inquired about the securities surrounding my mother's ICU, mentioning he'd been denied access during his previous visit.

"I think it's for extra precaution,"

I fabricated, unsure of what to reveal.

Mrs. Smith chimed in, feigning concern.

"Yes, I've seen them too. I wonder why they're necessary."

Throughout dinner, Raymond remained mostly silent, avoiding eye contact. Whenever our gazes met, he quickly looked away. I began to feel uneasy, questioning whether I was among friends or foes – the same people who had wronged my father.

Mrs. Smith persisted in asking about my health, recommending foods rich in folic acid and iron, suitable for a pregnant woman.

"Eat more leafy greens, dear, and take your vitamins regularly."