Talia barely slept.
She lay in bed, watching the ceiling fan spin above her as Ethan's steady breathing filled the space beside her. Her mind, however, was anything but still. The message, the article, the photograph, all of it gnawed at her insides like a slow burn she couldn't extinguish.
She needed answers. But more than that, she needed truth.
By morning, Ethan had already risen, his side of the bed cold. She could hear him downstairs in the kitchen, probably making breakfast for the twins, as he always did.
For a moment, her chest tightened at the normalcy of it all. How could someone look at her so lovingly, laugh with her, raise children with her, and still hold something so deeply buried*?
She showered, dressed quickly, and made her way down.
"Morning," Ethan said, glancing over his shoulder with that easy, boyish smile. Luna sat in a highchair, gurgling contentedly while Zane gnawed on a banana slice in his.
