Mabel insisted she was “perfectly fine, just a bit dreamy,” waving off questions with a chuckle. Yet the bottles felt heavy in Lauren’s palm, prescriptions stacking like unspoken worries. Dosages seemed high for someone so spry in conversation, her stories vivid one moment, tangled the next.
Lauren set them aside without comment, brewing chamomile instead. Mabel thanked her with a pat, eyes grateful. The fire crackled on, but now Lauren’s gaze drifted to those bottles more often, a first subtle suspicion rooting quietly in the cozy room.