It's about Julia Blackwood

"Didn't notice anything different about Mr. Edwin, mother. He looked the same, acted the same," Betty remarked as she stepped into the kitchen, her eyes fixed intently on her mother, Angela, who was meticulously preparing breakfast with a focused expression.

Angela, her mother, paused momentarily, her hands still as she turned to face Betty. Her gaze was sharp, full of thought.

"Are you sure?" Angela asked, her voice tinged with doubt, her brows slightly furrowing as if she was trying to find something beneath the surface of her daughter’s words.

"Yes, I’m sure. I didn’t see any difference from the Edwin I knew before I left. I really think you’re just overthinking this, mother," Betty replied, her tone calm but slightly firm, trying to dispel the tension brewing in the air.

"No, Betty, I don’t think I’m overthinking at all. I’ve been watching him for some time now. The way he talks, the way he moves—it’s not the same as before. And just yesterday, he asked me for coffee with extra cr
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