Chapter 12: The Questions Begin
Ryan started asking more questions.
It began innocently enough. He would ask how I was feeling, if I was sleeping okay, if I wanted to talk about Linda’s death. I always gave him the same answers — I was fine, just tired, still processing everything.
But he wasn’t convinced.
One evening, while we were having dinner, he put down his fork and looked at me seriously.
“You’ve changed,” he said.
I forced a smile.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not the same person you were before Mom died,” he said. “You used to be so warm. So… present. Now it’s like you’re somewhere else most of the time. Even when we’re together, it feels like you’re far away.”
I looked down at my plate.
“I’m just tired, Ryan. Taking care of her for four years took a lot out of me.”
Ryan was quiet for a moment.
“I know,” he said gently. “And I’m grateful. But I’m worried about you. Maybe you should talk to someone. A therapist, maybe.”
The word “therapist” made my stomach twist.
If I went to therapy, I would have to lie. Constantly. About everything. About what I had done. About who I really was.
“I don’t need therapy,” I said, a little too quickly. “I just need time.”
Ryan didn’t push, but I could tell he didn’t believe me.
That night, after he fell asleep, I lay awake thinking about how close I was to losing everything.
If Ryan ever found out the truth…
I couldn’t even finish the thought.
Because if Ryan knew what I had done to his mother, he would never forgive me. He might even turn me in.
May you like
And I wasn’t ready to lose him.
Not yet.
