I stared at him.
“No, Ethan.”
I stood.
“She did that herself.”
His expression changed.
For the first time since I met him, I saw fear.
Not guilt.
Fear.
Because he realized I was no longer the woman who would apologize just to keep peace.
“I want the truth,” I said.
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he whispered:
“You really don’t want to know what happened that night.”
My heart stopped.
“Why?”
His eyes moved toward the hallway.
Toward his mother’s room.
And when he spoke again, his voice was barely audible.
“Because my mother has been hiding something for twenty years.”
