Lily approached, wiping her hands before crouching to examine the swelling. Her expression stiffened momentarily before melting into perfect surprise. "Oh dear!" She touched the spot lightly, and Charlie whined again. "Probably last night while grooming him—the brush caught his fur when he jerked away. I must've accidentally scraped him." Her brow furrowed in self-reproach. "So sorry, Charlie. Mommy didn't mean to." She patted his head affectionately. Staring at the evident bruise, my heart sank: Could a brush cause such an injury? And why lock the door nightly? Why the secret purchases?
A Neighbor's Hint
Days later, I encountered our neighbor, Mrs. Harris, while walking Charlie. A gossipy widow who adored dogs, she greeted me cheerfully: "Hello there, young man!" She bent to pet Charlie. "Poor sweetheart. Has he been suffering lately?" My pulse quickened, but I feigned calm. "Suffering? Whatever do you mean? Charlie's fine." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "Well, I hear things at night. Around eight, your study wall faces mine. There's this 'thwacking' noise, sometimes Lily's voice sounding terribly stern! Like she's scolding something. Poor little Charlie..." She stroked his back sympathetically. My spirits plummeted: Thwacking sounds? Stern scolding? Could Lily really be harming him?
Mounting Anxiety
From that day, sleep deserted me. Each evening at eight, I braced myself, ears strained for every muffled groan, frantic scratch, and clipped command from the study. My mind amplified them into nightmarish scenes. Was her tender care a facade, maintained only for my sake? Or something darker I couldn't fathom? Were those treats rewards or punishments? What was the "handheld trainer"? The more I dwelled, the more unsettled I became, dark circles deepening beneath my eyes. Watching Lily's nonchalant daytime demeanor, I felt a tumult of emotions.
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