I leaned my forehead against the hallway wall.
“Why would a harmless game need to be hidden from me?”
“Cece—”
“No. Answer me. Why did you make our five-year-old promise not to tell his mother?”
He released a long breath.
“My overtime was cut.”
I waited.
“A lot,” he added. “I didn’t want you worrying about money. I created the game because I’ve been getting home late, and it gave Alex something to focus on.”
His explanation made little sense.
“How long has your overtime been reduced?”
“A few weeks.”
“How many weeks?”
“I don’t know. Maybe two months.”
His voice wavered.
“I have an early shift tomorrow. Can we talk when I come home Sunday?”
“No. We need to talk now.”
“Please, Cece.”
The desperation in that single word stopped me.
Brandon rarely asked for anything, and I had never heard him sound so frightened.
“Fine,” I whispered. “Sunday. But you are going to tell me everything.”
“I will.”
After the call ended, I remained in the hallway.
His story did not fit.
The missing forks, the lies, the strange trip, the whispered promises—it all felt connected, but I could not see how.
I walked into our bedroom and opened his side of the closet.
I was not searching for anything specific.
I simply needed something that made sense.
