Warren’s mouth opened, then closed.
His confidence had always required an audience willing to believe him.
This room offered none.
He looked at me then, really looked at me, as if searching for the woman who used to smooth things over before his lies became inconvenient.
“You’re my wife,” he said.
“I was.”
“You can’t just become someone else overnight.”
I stepped closer.
“I didn’t become someone else. You just ran out of people willing to pretend I was small.”
His eyes flicked to Rowan. “And what exactly do you think you are, Allison?”
I held his stare.
“Colonel Allison Hale, United States Army.”
The words did not echo.
They landed.
Warren knew, of course. He had always known the shape of the truth, even if he hid the details from his family. He knew enough to resent every promotion, every call he could not interrupt, every room he could not enter.
