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"It's the only answer I have." She set the plate down, picked up another. "When I first got drafted, my agent told me to keep my personal life private. Said sponsors don't want controversy, that the WNBA is already fighting for respect, and I shouldn't give anyone ammunition. So I didn't. I played well, kept my head down, built my career on being untouchable both on and off the court."

"And now?"

"Now, I don't know if I'm protecting my career or if I'm just scared. Don't know if coming out would actually cost me anything or if I've built this fear up into something bigger than it is. Don't know who I'd be if I wasn't hiding."

I rinsed another plate, handed it over. Our fingers tangled briefly in the transfer, and neither of us pulled away as quickly as we should have. "For what it's worth, I think you'd be exactly who you are now. Just happier."

Her amber eyes flashed to mine. "You don't know that."

"I know that hiding takes energy. Energy you could be using for literally anything else. Like winning more championships. Or learning to bake. Or finally admitting you think I'm funny."

"You are funny."

"Say it again. I want to record it for posterity."

"You're funny, Harper."

"One more time. I've been manifesting this moment."

"You're pushing your luck."

"It's what I do best. That and dish duty, apparently, which I'm still mad about, by the way. This betrayal will haunt me."

We fell into a rhythm after that, passing dishes back and forth, our banter flowing easier than it had in weeks. The friendship—or whatever this was—felt less like torture for a moment and more like something that could actually work. Two people who genuinely enjoyed each other's company, boundaries or not.

"Can I ask you about something too?" Cam said, her tone careful. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"Okay, now I'm concerned. That's your 'I'm about to ask something serious' voice. Should I brace myself?"

"What actually happened? With Henry. The article. All of it." She was drying the plate with careful attention, not looking at me. "You've mentioned it, but I don't know the whole story. And I… I want to understand."

Oh.

I scrubbed another plate, buying time to organize my thoughts. We'd talked about this peripherally, but never the full details. Never the specifics of how thoroughly Henry had destroyed my ability to trust.

"Okay," I said finally. "So. Henry and I were together for a few years by then. Engaged for nearly a year. And I thought everything was fine. Not perfect, but fine. You know, the kind of fine where you're not quite happy, but you're comfortable, and comfort feels like enough because you don't know what else to look for?"

Cam nodded, still drying.

"Mia came over this one day. This was maybe less than twelve hours before everything exploded. Laine had just told her about—about what happened with her… well, him. You know what I'm talking about?"

"The murders?" Cam said quietly. "Yeah. I know. Well, sort of. I don’t have all the details.”

"Twenty-odd years ago, Laine's family was murdered. Laine got a knife to the chest, but she survived and built this whole new life, became the nation's number one matchmaker. Nobody knew that Fashion City's beloved matchmaker was the same little girl from the Mulberry Road Murders. There's documentaries about her, true crime podcasts, the whole horrifying circus. It's just all they had before was on the kid Laine. And that Laine grew up and didn't want anyone to know about her past."

I handed Cam another plate. Our fingers touched again. This time neither of us pretended not to notice.

"Mia was an absolute wreck when she found out," I continued. "She needed to talk about it, process it, and figure out how to support Laine through this revelation. And I was the only person she trusted with that. So we sat in my living room, and she told me everything. The violence, the aftermath, the guilt Laine carried, how she'd survived it all. Really heavy, deeply personal stuff that Laine had shared with Mia in absolute confidence."

"And Henry was there?"

"That's the thing. He was at the kitchen table with his laptop, editing some article with headphones on. Big noise-canceling ones. He said he had a deadline. I asked if he could hear us, and he said no, completely tuned into his work." I felt the familiar surge of rage and betrayal rising in my chest. "But he was lying. He heard every word Mia said, every last detail about Laine's trauma. And he wrote an article. Published it on the front page of the Fashion City Sun the very next morning."

"Jesus Christ."

"Yeah. I woke up that morning, made coffee, picked up the paper like I did every day, and there it was. 'The Hidden Tragedy of Fashion City's Most Successful Matchmaker.' He'd included details that only someone who'd heard Mia's conversation could have known. Specific things about the crime scene, about Laine's therapy, about how she'd changed her name and built this new identity. He'd violated Laine's privacy, Mia's trust, and my—" My voice cracked. "My sense of safety. In my own home. The one place I should have been able to let my guard down."

Cam set down the dish towel, turned to face me fully. Her amber eyes were intense with focus, with something that looked like anger on my behalf. "What did you do?"