I pressed my lips together and stared out at the street.
Trevor loved me.
That part wasn’t in question.
He’d been there when I couldn’t get out of bed. When I couldn’t eat. When the quiet after John disappeared became something sharp enough to cut me open if I let it linger too long. Trevor had stepped in and made decisions when I couldn’t, had handled details I didn’t have the strength to touch.
He hadn’t forced himself into my life.
I’d leaned into him.
People didn’t understand that part. They liked to imagine villains as sudden things - men who arrived with warning labels and red flags waving from the start. But Trevor had always been gentle. Patient. Solid.
A hand at my back when I felt like I might fold in on myself.
A voice that said, I’ve got this, when everything else felt unmanageable.
I wrapped my fingers tighter around the mug.
He wouldn’t hurt me.
And he wouldn’t have hurt John.
That thought settled in my chest with surprising strength, like it had been waiting for me to say it out loud.
Trevor had loved me for years - quietly, steadily, and without demand. Whatever he’d done today, whatever lines he’d crossed, came from fear. From pressure. From the walls closing in.
Not malice.
Not violence.
And especially not murder.
The door to the café opened, letting in a rush of cool air. I looked up automatically.
Seth.
He spotted me immediately, relief softening his expression as he crossed the room. He didn’t smile. Didn’t rush. Just slid into the chair across from me like he was afraid to spook me.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
I nodded. “I think so.”
He studied me for a moment longer, then glanced at the untouched coffee. “You want a refill?”
“No.” I hesitated, then added, “I want to go home.”
His jaw tightened.
“To Trevor’s,” I clarified. Not defensive. Just honest.
He didn’t answer right away.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said finally.
“I know,” I replied. “But it’s what I want.”
That was the difference now. The thing that felt newly important.