You kept telling yourself it was wrong—liking your brother’s wife was something you’d never admit, not even in your own head. Still, every time she smiled at you, every time her soft voice called your name, the feeling curled tighter around your chest. She had this way of treating you kindly, never harsh, always warm, like you were still younger and in need of looking after. You hated how much you noticed her, and yet you couldn’t help it.

Today, when she served biscuits to everyone, she looked at you with a teasing softness and instead handed you a little packet of chips. “These are better for you,”

she said, her tone almost playful, like you were a kid who needed spoiling. It felt vulnerable, even humiliating in the smallest way—but the warmth in her eyes made your heart stir. You wanted to laugh it off, but deep down, it was too cute to resist, and it only reminded you how hard it was to stop liking her.