That evening, we drove back to Nathan’s home. Our home now. It was my first time there as his wife.
I walked through each room slowly, touching the doorframes, the bookshelves, the small framed photographs. As if my fingers might help convince my heart that this was real. This is where everything begins again, I thought.
“I am going to freshen up,” I told him gently.
He smiled, the soft smile I had come to know so well. “Take your time, darling.”
The Locked Drawer
When I returned to the bedroom, something had shifted.
Nathan stood in the center of the room, still in his suit. His posture was stiff. His expression was distant. The warm, easy man I had walked in with had quietly stepped away.
“Nathan,” I said softly, “are you all right?”
He did not answer right away. Instead, he walked to the nightstand. He opened the top drawer and took out a small key, holding it for a moment as if it carried far more weight than it should.
My breath caught.
He unlocked the bottom drawer, opened it, and turned to face me.
“Before we go any further, Mattie, there is something I need you to know. I am ready to be honest with you about something I have been carrying.”
