Nicole didn’t bring it up right away.
She’d sat with it for a few days—let it tumble around her brain like clothes in a dryer. Sometimes it felt like a warning. Other times, just a sad kind of mystery. Her conversations with Julia hadn’t clarified much, except for the shared sense that something didn’t add up.
But it wasn’t just about Edgar anymore. It was about whether the story he told matched the life he lived.
So when they met for coffee that Thursday afternoon, she didn’t wait for the moment to feel right.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Can I ask you something kind of serious?”
Edgar looked up from his cappuccino. “Of course.”
She hesitated. “I’ve been thinking about the other day. Your house, the photo album… your parents.” She traced a finger along the rim of her cup. “You always talk about them like they’re these kind, loving people. But the pictures… they told a different story.”
He was quiet for a moment.
“I’m not accusing,” she added quickly. “I’m just trying to understand.”
Edgar set his cup down, eyes fixed on the table.
“When I was a kid,” he said finally, “I was… sensitive. Shy. A little too emotional, I guess. And my parents—well, they believed in tough love. They thought I needed to learn how to handle the world. They pushed me, sometimes harder than they should’ve.” He looked up. “But it came from a good place.”
Nicole nodded slowly, unsure. “So, things changed over time?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Especially after I left for college. When I came back, we reconnected. They softened. I grew up. We figured it out.” He smiled faintly. “They’re not perfect. But they’re my parents.”
Nicole studied him. He wasn’t flinching or faking. If he was lying, it was buried so deep he didn’t even know anymore.
“Then why haven’t I met them?” she asked. “You talk about them like they’re practically your roommates. But every time it’s almost happened, something gets in the way.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then nodded once, as if making a decision.
“You’re right,” he said. “You deserve to meet them.”
Nicole blinked. “Really?”
“Yeah. Come over Friday after work. Stay the weekend, if you want. I’ll tell them tonight—they’ll be thrilled.”
The relief that washed through her wasn’t total, but it was something. Progress. Honesty. Maybe this could be the beginning of a more open version of Edgar—the version who could share, even the hard parts.
They moved on to safer topics. Work. Julia’s visit. Where to order takeout from that night. But part of her mind still lingered in that old photo album. In that too-clean house. In those watchful, frightened eyes.
Still, people change. Families evolve. Maybe it really was just a phase.
Edgar opened the car door for her, the way he always did.
“They’ve been peppering me with questions all day,” he said with a grin. “What’s her favorite color, what’s she like to eat, does she laugh at your terrible jokes—stuff like that.”
Nicole laughed, the tension in her chest loosening just a bit.
He took her hand and led her up the walkway, through the front door, into the clean, still house.
“They’re in the kitchen,” he said. “Come on.”
She followed him past the sterile living room, past the faint scent of citrus and something sharper beneath it. Into the kitchen.
Two frail figures sat at the table, backs turned.
Nicole’s heart jumped. Finally.
Then Edgar gently led her around the table, smiling.
The figures were still.
They were dressed in clean, pressed clothes. Wigs carefully placed. But their faces—
Mummified. Sunken. Skin stretched and cracked. Eyes dull and caved. Lips curled into something that might once have been a smile.
It wasn’t that they were still. It was that they would never move again.
Nicole couldn’t speak.
Edgar, beaming, turned to her.
“Nicole,” he said, “I’d like for you to meet my parents.”.