The air was heavy with tension after George's return. I could barely sleep, haunted by what could have happened. The scars on his wrists, the bruises along his jaw, and the silence in his eyes told stories far worse than his lips ever could. But what disturbed me most was the note he had hidden in his jacket.
A note he wouldn’t speak about.
I found it one morning when I helped him change the dressing on his wound. A piece of torn paper, stained with dried blood, tucked carefully under the inner lining of his coat. It read:
"Next time, she won't be so lucky. —P"
Phil.
The name screamed at me. My stomach twisted. I had finally found peace with George, finally begun healing, and Phil was determined to shatter that. I kept the note hidden, even from George. I couldn’t let him know. Not ye
