A chill ran down my spine.
“What do you know?” I asked, stepping closer. “If there’s something you’re hiding—”
“I’m not hiding anything,” she cut in, though her eyes darted away. “But maybe you should ask yourself why a man who ‘told you everything’ never mentioned this place. Or me.”
The room fell silent.
That question lodged itself deep in my chest, heavier than anything she’d thrown at me so far.
That night, I couldn’t sleep.
The house creaked softly around me, every sound amplified by the storm still raging outside. My thoughts spiraled, circling the same questions over and over.
Why didn’t he tell me?
And who was Deborah to him?
Around 2 a.m., I gave up on sleep and wandered downstairs. A faint light glowed from the living room. I hesitated, then moved closer, careful not to make a sound.
