The scent of lemon cleaner clung to the air as I wiped down the kitchen counters, the soft hum of the dishwasher filling the otherwise silent house. Cleaning was never something I enjoyed, but it gave me peace of mind — and a break from overthinking. Just as I tossed the sponge into the sink, the doorbell rang.
When I opened the door, a sharply dressed man stood there, smiling confidently. He carried a leather briefcase and a sleek phone, looking every bit like a business executive.
“Hi! I’m here to see Mr. Lambert. You must be the cleaning lady—Liliya, right?” he said, extending a hand. “I’m David, his business partner.”
Before I could correct him, he added that he’d seen my picture, thanks to “Mrs. Lambert.” My stomach dropped. “Mrs. Lambert?” I asked.
“Yes, Greg’s wife,” David said casually. “I’ve known them for years. Great couple.”
I was stunned. That’s me—so who was this “Mrs. Lambert” he was talking about? Curiosity got the better of me, so I played along.
As we chatted, David showed me pictures of Greg and the woman he believed to be Mrs. Lambert—my own sister, Allison. My pulse raced. Greg had been parading my sister around as his wife.
Trying to keep calm, I offered David a drink. When I returned, I asked him to look at a wedding photo on the mantel.
“That’s you,” he said slowly, realization dawning. “Wait… you’re Mrs. Lambert?”