Slowly, she looked up at me, her face pale but no longer angry.
Just tired.
“You weren’t supposed to see that,” she said softly.
I stepped into the room, my heart pounding. “You knew him. Not just knew him—you were with him.”
She closed the box with trembling hands.
“I was more than that,” she admitted.
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap.
“What does that mean?” My voice cracked. “Deborah… what are you saying?”
She looked straight at me now, and for the first time since I’d met her, there was no hostility left—only something raw and deeply buried.
“I was his wife.”
Continue on the next page:
