I was afraid of what it would do to Grace. She was already processing so much. The truth about Samuel, about Caroline, about the choices her mother had made. What if there was more? What if there was something in that journal that would shatter whatever fragile peace she’d managed to find?
I was afraid of what it would mean for me and Trudy. Because the more I learned about Christina, the more I realized how different these two women were. How much more I felt for Trudy than I’d ever felt for Christina. And that guilt, that crushing, suffocating guilt—it was eating me alive.
How could I love Trudy more than the mother of my child? How could I feel more for a woman I’d known six months than the woman I’d spent years with?
What kind of man did that make me?
“I’m afraid,” I said finally, “that I won’t recognize her when I’m done. That whatever I thought I knew about Christina will be gone, and all I’ll have left is... this. These secrets. These choices she made that I can’t understand.”
Trudy nodded slowly, like she’d expected that answer. “And you’re afraid of what that means for Grace.”
“Yeah.”
“And for you.”
I looked away, focusing on the television screen. Some detective was interrogating a suspect, but I couldn’t hear the words over the roar in my head.
“Stephen.” Trudy’s hand came up to my jaw, gently turning my face back to hers. “You can’t protect Grace from the truth. And you can’t protect yourself from it either.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” Her eyes searched mine. “Because it seems like you’re trying to do exactly that.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to tell her she was wrong, that I wasn’t trying to protect anyone, that I was just... what? Taking my time? Processing? Giving myself space to breathe before diving back into the darkness?
But that would be bullshit, and we both knew it.
I was hiding. Plain and simple. Hiding from the truth because I was terrified of what it would cost me.
“Maybe tomorrow,” I said quietly. “I’ll read more tomorrow.”
Trudy studied me for a long moment, then nodded. She didn’t push, didn’t argue. Just settled back against my side, her head finding my shoulder again.
But I could feel the weight of her silence. Could feel her disappointment, even if she didn’t voice it.
She was right. I needed to finish it. Needed to know what else Christina had hidden, what other truths were waiting for me in those pages.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I just wanted to hold Trudy and pretend that the past wasn’t waiting for me. That I could stay in this moment forever, with her warmth against my side and her steady breathing in my ear.
Tomorrow. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.
Even as I thought it, I knew I was lying to myself.
The bakery was quiet when I walked in the next morning, just a handful of early customers scattered at tables. Trudy was behind the counter, her hair pulled back, her apron already dusted with flour. She looked up when the bell chimed, and that smile, the one that had become just for me, spread across her face. It was the kind of smile that made a man feel like he’d won something priceless. Something passed between us in that moment, an understanding, a promise, maybe. Or a challenge.
I’d brought the journal.
It sat in my jacket pocket like a lead weight, pressing against my ribs with every breath. I could feel it there, could feel the pull of it, demanding attention I wasn’t ready to give.
But I’d brought it. That had to count for something.
I made my way to the window table, my table, the one where I’d sat dozens of times over the past six months. The one thathad become mine by default, by routine, by the simple fact that I kept coming back.
I pulled out the chair and sat down, then reached into my jacket and pulled out the journal.
It looked innocuous sitting there on the table. Just a leather-bound book, worn at the edges, the pages yellowed with age. Nothing threatening about it. Nothing dangerous.
