Friends offered theories, each more unsettling than the last. Some suggested gambling. Others alluded to a possible mistress. Maggie forced polite smiles, but their words burrowed deep. Alone at night, she lay awake, replaying decades of conversations, wondering which moments had been true and which could have been a farce.
Maggie slammed a drawer shut, frustration boiling. Why couldn’t he have been honest while alive? Why leave her chasing shadows in grief? She pressed her forehead against the cool wood, whispering, “I did trust you, Daniel. Was it not enough?” Silence answered, heavy and suffocating.