Frank glanced around before leaning closer.
“The money. The hotel. You thought he was seeing someone.”
My entire body went still.
“What are you talking about?”
He shook his head slowly.
“There was no other woman.”
I stared at him, waiting for an explanation.
Frank gripped my arm as though he needed help standing.
“Troy told me the truth near the end,” he whispered. “He made me promise not to tell you until it couldn’t change anything.”
“Why?”
His eyes filled with tears.
“Because he believed knowing would hurt you more than losing him.”
Before I could ask another question, my son appeared and guided Frank toward a chair.
But as he walked away, Frank turned back.
“Some secrets aren’t affairs,” he said. “And some lies don’t come from wanting another life.”
The words followed me home.
That night, I sat at the same kitchen table where I had once placed the hotel receipts in front of Troy.
For the first time, I wondered whether I had misunderstood everything.
Three days later, a courier delivered an envelope.
My name was written across the front in Troy’s handwriting.
