The Lingerie Thief Next Door - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

The air in the room grew thick with silence.
My husband didn't say another word.
After what felt like forever, Mrs. Roscente shifted uncomfortably and stood. "I... I know I've made things difficult for you. This is all my fault. I shouldn't have come." Her eyes were red-rimmed as she turned toward the door.
I grabbed my husband's sleeve, silently pleading.
He let out a slow breath. "Aunt Margaret, this isn't about you. It's just—Dad should've talked to us first before bringing you home. That's all."
Mrs. Roscente flushed, waving her hands frantically. "No, no, don't blame Leonard! He meant well. I'm the one who's lonely, always looking for company. But I swear I won't be a burden—I'm still strong, no major health problems..."
Suddenly, Leonard shot to his feet, glaring at my husband. "That's enough! I've spent my whole life putting you first. If you're so against this, fine—Margaret and I will leave. You won't have to deal with us anymore."
My husband gave a dry laugh. "Dad, come on. We never said we were against it..."
A flicker of satisfaction crossed Leonard's face. He gently guided Mrs. Roscente back to the couch.
Watching him fuss over her, something finally clicked in my mind. "Aunt Margaret... was it you who washed my lingerie?"
She ducked her head, embarrassed. "Oh, dear, I thought since we're both women, I'd help out. I didn't realize you'd mind. Leonard even scolded me for it."
My face burned as I remembered how harshly I'd snapped at Leonard.
"Dad," I said slowly, "when you were looking at my lipstick... was it for Aunt Margaret?"
Leonard turned pink, glancing at her. "This one here wouldn't stop going on about how nice other women looked with lipstick, saying she'd never worn any. I didn't know the first thing about makeup, so I peeked at yours to get her something similar. Didn't mean to invade your things..."
Mrs. Roscente jumped in, flustered. "I told him off for that! It was just a silly thought. Really, I don't need it."
Her timid expression tugged at my heart.
Then I asked the question that had been eating at me. "Dad... what about the pajamas you washed?"
"Pajamas?" He looked genuinely confused.
Mrs. Roscente nudged him. "She must mean the ones I borrowed."
Leonard's face cleared. "Oh! Those were your mother's—remember? You bought them. Margaret got her clothes soaked doing laundry, so I lent her your mom's set. Then she spilled sauce on them while cooking. I tried washing them before you noticed, but..."
Of course. My mother-in-law had owned the exact same pair—I'd bought them on a buy-one-get-one sale.
What a ridiculous misunderstanding.
My racing heart finally settled. The dim balcony light had made the stains look worse than they were. I'd jumped straight to the worst possible conclusion.
Shame flooded through me. Thank God I'd never actually said those awful suspicions out loud.
I stood and bowed deeply to Leonard. "Dad, I'm so sorry for how I've treated you lately. It won't happen again."
He waved it off with a warm smile. "We're family."
Then he hesitated. "So... about Margaret and me..."
Relief washed over me.
Seeing my husband still wavering, I jumped in with support until he finally gave in.
Leonard and Mrs. Roscente exchanged a glance—and smiled.