“They dated briefly,” John admits. “Right before Sabrina moved to Chicago.”
My hand tightens around the phone. “Briefly how?”
“Couple of months,” he says. “Nothing official by public standards.”
I can hear it now—the hesitation. The thing he isn’t saying.
“John,” I warn. “Don’t filter.”
Another pause.
“They were photographed together,” he finally says. “The day before she left. They looked… happy. Close. Comfortable.”
Something cold twists in my chest.
“And then?” I ask.
“And then she packed up and moved across the country,” John finishes. “Went completely no contact. No explanation. No goodbye. By all accounts, it blindsided him.”
I breathe through my nose, jaw locked so tight it aches.
“Anything else?” I ask.
“No signs of abuse. No police reports. No legal trouble.” John hesitates. “But people don’t disappear like that without a reason.”
“No,” I say quietly. “They don’t.”
We end the call shortly after.
When I step back into the bedroom, I stop in the doorway.
Sabrina’s sprawled slightly now, one leg tangled in the sheets, my pillow hugged tight to her chest like she knows it’s mine. Her face is relaxed, peaceful. Soft.
Nothing about her saysrunner.
I lean against the frame, watching her sleep, and something dark coils low in my gut.
What did he do?
What happened in that space betweenhappyandgonethat made her cut all ties and flee?
My hand curls into a fist at my side, heat rushing through my veins at the thought of Elliott Cavanaugh being anywhere near her again.
I don’t care what his intentions are now.
He’s a problem.
And problems that threaten my wife don’t get second chances.
I cross the room quietly and slip back into bed, pulling Sabrina into my arms again. She sighs in her sleep, fitting against me like she was made to.
I press my mouth to her hair, breathing her in.
Whatever drove her to run before—
She’s not running now.
And I’ll make damn sure no one ever gives her a reason to again.
