My twin sister came to visit me at night, her face covered in bruises. After learning that her husband had done it, we decided to switch places and teach him a lesson he’d never forget
It was raining again outside. It had been pouring for several days now, making everything around me feel gray and sticky. I sat in the kitchen, mechanically stirring my long-cold tea and thinking of anything to escape that nagging unease.
The doorbell rang unexpectedly. The cat twitched and jumped off the windowsill. I immediately tensed. No one comes to me at this hour without a reason.
I looked through the peephole and froze. Emma was standing on the landing. My sister. Her hair was wet, her raincoat thrown hastily over her housedress, her face pale.
Even through the cloudy glass, it was clear something bad had happened.
I opened the door. When she stepped into the apartment, the light fell on her face, and my stomach sank. One eye was barely open, a dark bruise spreading around it. There was a fresh cut on her cheek, and her lips were cracked. She was trying to hold on, but it was difficult.
