Page 145 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

“You're pulling back.”

I don't deny it.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can.”

Her gaze searches mine. “You don't have to answer.”

“I know.”

She watches me, as if measuring whether to proceed. “Your wife’s accident.”

The words are careful, respectful, without being fragile. “I know the official version,” she continues. “But you don’t believe it?”

This is the point at which most conversations end. People ask out of politeness, curiosity, or obligation. They expect a deflection.

She isn’t expecting that.

She’s waiting.

“No,” I say finally. “I don’t. I reviewed the data myself,” I continue. “After the report was released.”

Her brow furrows slightly in concentration. “And something didn’t match.”

“Yes.”

“What?”

I lean back slightly, considering how much to say. Then decide, for reasons I don’t fully examine, not to filter it. “The failure pattern. It didn’t behave like pilot error. It behaved like a system conflict.”

She nods slowly. “Like something was overriding something else?”

“Or failing to resolve correctly,” I say. “The stabilization system is designed with layered failsafes. Redundancies. If one component misreads input, another compensates.”

“And that didn’t happen.”

“No.”

“Which means…”

“That a layer didn’t engage,” I finish.

She’s quiet, processing. “Could that just happen?”

“No.”

She studies me. “So either something broke…”

“Or something was altered.”

The words settle between us.

“Did anyone else look into it?” she asks.

“The official investigation did.”

“And they didn’t find anything.”