He’d kissed my forehead at the door, brief and careful, like I was something fragile.
“Try to rest,” he’d said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
I’d nodded and smiled when I was supposed to.
I stood there longer than necessary, listening to the hum of the refrigerator, the faint tick of a clock I had no part in picking. This house was ours - his word, not mine - but it still felt like a hotel I hadn’t unpacked in.
I moved to the living room, sinking onto the couch, phone in hand.
No new messages.
That shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did. Seth had been hovering at the edge of everything since yesterday, his concern pressing in from every direction, and now there was nothing.
I stared at his name in my contacts, thumb hovering.
Trevor’s voice drifted through my head. We’ll update him later.
I didn’t know when later was supposed to be, but before I could overthink it, I typed a quick message.
Me: I’m home. Trevor’s at work. I’m okay
The reply came quickly.
Seth: Are you?
I stared at the screen for a second, then typed the truth.
Me: I don’t know
Seth: Do you want me to come by?
I hesitated only a moment before answering.
Me: Yeah
He didn’t respond with anything dramatic. Just…
Seth: On my way
I set the phone down and leaned back into the couch, staring at the ceiling. The quiet pressed in again, but this time it felt less like emptiness and more like a waiting room.
My mind drifted back to the interview. The careful way Detective Marshal had spoken. The way Trevor had answered questions before I could. The way certain details had been omitted.
How did John die?
Where did they find him?
How long had he been gone before anyone knew?
The answers weren’t hidden from me.
I realized, I just hadn’t asked.
At the time, it had felt like self-preservation. Like if I didn’t know the details, I could keep John intact, whole and untouched by whatever had happened in the dark.
But sitting there alone, I felt something else tugging at the edges of that logic.
Why hasn’t anyone told me?