“Yes.”
His face fell.
“You’re divorcing me.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then why?”
“Because I no longer trust what I know.”
That silenced him.
I walked toward the stairs.
Behind me, Daniel said my name.
I stopped.
“I’m sorry.”
I turned.
He looked exhausted.
Lost.
Human.
That was the worst part.
Villains were easier.
Daniel wasn’t a monster.
He was a man who had chosen pride over honesty so many times that eventually he had crossed a line he couldn’t pretend wasn’t there.
“I believe you’re sorry,” I said.
His eyes lifted.
“But I don’t know yet what sorry is worth.”
Then I went upstairs.
I slept in the guest room.
Or tried to.
At 1:17 a.m., my phone vibrated on the nightstand.
A text message.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then I saw my name.
Rachel, I’m sorry to contact you this late. My name is Melissa Carter. I think we need to talk before Daniel tells you the rest.
