Page 126 of Forever Gone

“Or because it saves them from admitting their choices.”

Carol lifted a piece of chicken, chewed, then placed the fork neatly across the plate.

The care in the movement disturbed Deb more than anger would have.

Carol continued, “A husband works too much, spends money on the wrong things, becomes jealous, forgets an anniversary, or says something cruel during an argument. Suddenly she’s trapped. Suddenly strangers are telling her to pack a bag and burn her life down.”

“That isn’t what the group does.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No.” Deb forced herself not to glance toward the kitchen. Her phone rested on the counter beside the charger. Twelve feet away, perhaps fourteen. “People ask for advice. Other members give their opinions.”

“Very confidently.”

“Sometimes.”

“Always.”

Deb shook her head. “Carol, some women on there are being beaten. Others have partners who track every movement, control their money, threaten their children, or stop them seeing family. And, sure, some are just going through a difficult divorce without any of that. That’s bad enough. HearthSpace may be the only place they can speak honestly.”

“Maybe.”

The answer opened a space Deb did not know how to cross.

MorningGlory44 had once replied to frightened women at all hours. Carol urged them to hide documents, create private accounts, and find somewhere safe. She had spoken about anonymity as though it were a locked door between a victim and danger.

“This isn’t like you,” Deb said. “You always wanted to protect the identities of the women in that group. You said secrecy could save lives. If some of their husbands found out what they’d written...”

“They’d have to deal with the consequences.”

The sentence came before Deb finished.

Carol lifted the water glass again. This time, she took a small drink. A wet mark remained on the table when she returned it.

Deb listened to the wind moving around the house.

“Karen, Ruth, and Linda didn’t deserve what happened to them.”

Carol’s mouth tightened. “How can you know what anyone deserves?”

Deb’s attention dropped to Carol’s right side.

The hand had returned beneath the blouse. Fingers pressed against a hard outline near the waistband. Longer than a phone. Narrow at one end. The fabric rose slightly before Carol released it.

Deb’s pulse strengthened.

A knife seemed impossible. They had known each other for years. Shared lunches, messages, stories about marriages they later wished they had kept private. Carol had sat at this table before.

The thought did not remove the shape beneath her blouse.

Deb considered standing to collect the plates. From the kitchen, she could reach the phone. Carol sat between her and the front door, but the hallway behind Deb led to a back entrance through the utility room.

Any sudden movement would reveal that Deb was afraid.

She remained seated.

“Did you know them outside HearthSpace?” Deb asked.