Brett didn’t deny it. He didn’t explain it. He stood there, silent, hands open, as if withholding words required effort. The absence of defense felt intentional. She waited for outrage, excuses, anything. Instead, she received a silence that deepened her dread and confirmed her worst private suspicions.
He finally said, “It’s not what you think it is,” repeating the phrase carefully. The words offered reassurance without substance. She asked what it was, then. He looked away. The evasion hurt more than an accusation because it asked for trust while withholding explanation from the person she relied on most.