They Said It Was A Gift—But What I Found In My Living Room Was A Trap

“Where’s Mark?” I asked.

“Oh,” Vira said, too lightly, “he’s running errands. He’ll be back soon.”

“You don’t have a key.”

“Mark gave us his,” Bashir replied, flat as a stamp.

Something cold lifted off the floor and settled in my chest.

I walked outside. I didn’t slam the door. I didn’t play their script. On the fourth call, Mark finally answered.

“Hey, babe,” he said, too casual. “Everything okay?”

“You gave your parents a key to our house?”

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