something else—perhaps a realization that the world they knew had just shifted.
Daniel closed the basement door with a decisive click, the lock sliding back into place. He stood in the hallway, his shoulders slumped, his eyes fixed on the floor.
“I should have told you,” he said quietly. “I kept that part of my life locked away, not just the basement. I thought I was protecting you, protecting the girls.”
I wanted to say something, to comfort him, to explain that I understood, but the words stuck in my
throat, thick and heavy.
Later that night, after the girls were asleep, I sat on the edge of the couch, the soft hum of the refrigerator filling the silence. The necklace lay on the coffee table, its silver glint catching the dim light.
Daniel joined me, sitting beside me, his hand resting lightly on my knee. “I didn’t know what else to do,” he murmured. “I thought if I kept it hidden, the pain would stay hidden too.”
