“I think we need to talk about… everything,” I manage to say, the words heavy on my tongue.
My husband finally looks up, his eyes guarded.
“Let’s focus on the finances first,” he says, steering the conversation away from the unknown.
But I can’t let it go, the need for answers clawing at me.
“What about those papers I found?” I press, my heart racing.
He hesitates, a flicker of something in his expression—fear? Annoyance?
“They’re nothing,” he dismisses, his tone firm and final.
But I can’t shake the feeling that they’re everything.
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