Frank's POV
Ruth's trembling hands gripped the edge of the photograph as though it might disintegrate if she let go. Her breath was coming in short, shallow gasps, and her eyes-wide and frantic-scanned the images in front of her. She whispered, more to herself than to anyone else, "No… no… it can't be. This isn't real.
I had walked in just in time to see her crumple into the chair by the window. My footsteps echoed across the marble tiles of our Bangkok apartment as I approached cautiously. Something wasn't right. Ruth's usual commanding presence was shattered, replaced by something… broken.
"Ruth," I called softly, but she didn't even glance my way. Her knuckles were white against the edges of the photograph. "What's going on?"
She shook her head and muttered to herself, as if she had
