Rebecca would never leave my room until I had finished the entire glass of water.
One evening, I told her I wasn’t
thirsty.
Her expression changed immediately.
“Please, drink it. I can’t let that happen again.”
Those last words began to worry me.
What was it that must never happen again?
I asked her, but she simply smiled and walked out of the room.
The next morning, I woke up later than usual. My head felt heavy, and my right palm was covered with a thick white bandage.
I had absolutely no memory of how I had injured myself.
Rebecca hurried into my room.
“You accidentally hurt your hand during the night.
I cleaned the wound and bandaged it.”
“But why can’t I remember anything?”
She remained silent for a few moments.
“Maybe you were just sleeping very deeply.”
From that day on, I began to dread the nights.
Several times, I noticed in the mornings that my slippers had been moved, and the chair beside my bed had been shifted from its place.
