I just saw my baby sister standing there with everything she owned packed into two bags, looking completely shattered.
So I took one suitcase.
Andrew came outside and took the other.
“You can stay with us until you get back on your feet,” I told her. “However long that takes.”
Andrew agreed immediately.
That was who he was.
He didn’t pull me aside and ask how long she might stay.
He didn’t start calculating expenses or complaining about losing the guest room.
He simply carried her suitcase upstairs.
For the first week, having Kayla around was honestly fine.
She kept mostly to herself.
Some nights I heard her crying through the wall.
During the day, she helped with dishes, folded laundry, and sat at the kitchen table scrolling through job postings.
I thought this was exactly what family was supposed to do.
We would give her somewhere safe to land.
She would heal.
Then she would rebuild.
Then came the towel.
The first morning, I didn’t think much of it.
Kayla came downstairs after a shower wearing only a bath towel, her hair still dripping wet.
Andrew was at the kitchen table drinking coffee.
She walked past him to the refrigerator like nothing unusual was happening.
I figured she had forgotten he was there.
Maybe she was still operating on habits from the apartment she had shared with Eric.
So I ignored it.
The next morning, she did it again.
This time, after Andrew went upstairs to get dressed for work, I pulled her aside.
“Hey,” I said lightly. “Could you put on a robe before coming downstairs in the morning? Andrew is usually in here having coffee.”
Kayla stared at me.
