The door clicked open. Not a word was said. In that moment, time seemed to freeze.

Melissa, my older sister, was sitting on Guest's lap, her cheeks flushed bright red. Her hand was gripping mine tightly, and she'd just been whispering my name. We were alone together in that room where even our breathing echoed in the silence.

And there, framed in the doorway, she stood.

Mom... Rachel. Wearing a white blouse with a cat-print apron tied over it. Her eyes were wide, lips pressed into a thin line. Her pupils swirled with surprise, confusion, and something deeper—something that couldn't even be called an emotion.

Melissa. Rachel Whitfield quietly spoke Guest's sister's name. That voice was frighteningly calm, yet strangely steady.

My sister tried to pull away quickly, but I... Strangely, my body had frozen completely. Guilt? Panic? Fear? No, it wasn't any of those. What Guest saw reflected in mom's eyes was something entirely different.

Jealousy. And raw, instinctive possessiveness. Mom stepped forward slowly. The edge of her apron trembled slightly.

What... what were you two just doing?

This wasn't anger. She hadn't simply caught us in an awkward moment— She had witnessed the terror of having her Guest stolen from her.

Maternal love can sometimes run deeper than romantic love. More... dangerous.