“Separate closets?”
One eyebrow lifted—just a fraction.
“I’m a disaster,” Liam said easily, stepping in without hesitation. “Seriously. My system is an insult to the word system.” He gestured vaguely at the closet, like the evidence spoke for itself. “Riley keeps her things in the guest room so my chaos doesn’t infect her perfectly folded sweaters.”
Judith’s lips twitched. Almost a smile.
“I see.”
She made another note. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
Then she asked to speak with each of us separately.
Liam went first.
I sat at the kitchen table, listening to the muffled cadence of voices through the walls—catching only fragments, the occasional low laugh from Liam. What was he saying? What was she asking? What version of our story was he giving her?
When it was my turn, Judith sat across from me, her clipboard set aside. Her full attention fixed on my face.
“Tell me about your relationship with Mr. Murphy. How did you meet?”
The question was clipped. Procedural.
“At work,” I said, grounding myself before continuing. “I transferred to the West Valley Springs fire station about two years ago. He was already on the crew.”
“And when did you start dating?”
There it was.
I drew a slow breath and let it settle.
“It wasn’t like that,” I said carefully. “We worked side by side for a long time before anything changed. He was dealing with his own things. I was too.” A pause. “At some point, we stopped handling it alone. The rest followed.”
Judith’s pen moved again. No expression. No cue.
“When did you know he was the one?”
The air caught in my throat.
Images surfaced without permission—Liam in the barn, guiding Mia without pressure. A mug of chamomile placed in my hands before I realized I needed it. His fingers at my back in the courtroom, steady and unmoving.
I lifted my eyes.
“He shows up,” I said quietly. “That’s what matters. He shows up—for Mia, for me, for the people he cares about. No announcements. No conditions.” A beat. “He’s just there. Every time.”
I stopped, the realization hitting me as the words settled.
I wasn’t inventing anything.
“I think that’s when I knew,” I continued. “When I realized I could count on him. That he wasn’t going anywhere, no matter how complicated things got.”
Judith held my gaze a moment longer than necessary, like she was weighing something I couldn’t see. Then her pen moved—brief, economical—and she shifted seamlessly into the next question.
I stayed where I was, pulse loud in my ears, the echo of my own words lingering uncomfortably.
At some point, the lies had stopped feeling borrowed and started settling in like they belonged.
And Judith wasn’t finished yet. Not even close.
