The Question Unasked
769 Words
Morning came with rain tapping against the windowpane. Suzie braided Amelia’s hair with steady fingers, masking the unease coiled beneath her ribs. Amelia chatted about a girl in her new class who had a sparkly backpack, blissfully untouched by the storm gathering outside their world.
After drop-off, Suzie walked back to the bakery with her hood up, breathing in the damp chill. She hoped, foolishly, that yesterday had been a hallucination brought on by stress and memory. But when she reached the door, a sleek black car was parked across the street.
Richard was inside.
He stepped out as if the weather parted for him, coat immaculate, expression unreadable. No bodyguards this time, just him.
“I said I’d be back,” he murmured.
Suzie straightened, keys still in her hand. “What do you want, Richard?”
He studied her face, then the closed sign she hadn’t flipped yet. “The truth.”
Her pulse thudded in her ears. “About what?”
His gaze hardened. “About why you left. About the child you didn’t have when you knew me… but somehow have now.”
For a heartbeat, the world held its breath. The lie she’d lived with for years trembled at the edge of collapse.
She opened the bakery door, but didn’t step aside for him.
Some answers, she knew, could no longer hide, but she wasn’t ready to give them freely.
Not yet.
Richard didn’t push his way in, but his presence filled the doorway like a force she couldn’t shut out. Suzie moved past him and switched on the lights, her hands pretending to be in routine while her thoughts raced.
“If you’re here to start a fight, leave,” she said without turning.
“I’m here for answers,” he replied calmly. “You owe me that much.”
She paused with her back to him. “I don’t owe you anything.”
For several seconds, there was only the hum of refrigerators and the soft patter of rain against the windows. Then his voice got lower, more controlled.
“Her eyes,” he said. “They look like mine.”
Suzie froze.
“I did the math,” he continued. “She’s what? Four? Almost five?” His tone wasn’t angry, but sharpened by realization. “You left five years ago.”
The words scraped across a wound she’d never let heal. She turned to face him at last. “Don’t do this.”
Richard stepped closer, not menacing, but unyielding. “Tell me the truth, Suzie.”
Her throat tightened. “The truth ruined me once.”
His expression flickered, something pained slipping through the armor. “Then let it ruin me too.”
Before she could respond, the bell over the door chimed again. Marjorie, walking in with a box of supplies and eyes that missed nothing.
Suzie’s heart pounded.
Richard wasn’t leaving.
And this time, the past refused to wait quietly in the shadows.
Marjorie’s gaze bounced between them, sharp as a knife. “You two look like you’re about to set the place on fire,” she said, setting the box on the counter.
Suzie forced control into her voice. “He was just leaving.”
Richard didn’t move. “I’ll leave when I have what I came for.”
Marjorie wiped her hands on her apron, eyes narrowing. “You causing trouble for my niece?”
His attention flicked to her, respectful but unwavering. “I’m trying to find out why she vanished without explanation.”
Suzie shot her aunt a warning look, but Marjorie only raised a brow. “Plenty of women disappear from men who don’t deserve them.”
Richard absorbed that without flinching. “Maybe. But I deserve the truth.”
Suzie stepped between them, voice low. “This isn’t your world anymore, Richard. Go back to your towers and boardrooms and forget you ever walked in here.”
He didn’t blink. “I tried forgetting you once. It didn’t work.”
The words landed harder than she expected. For a second, the air between them wasn’t sharp, but heavy with something old and unfinished.
Marjorie cleared her throat pointedly. “Either buy a muffin or get out. We’ve got work to do.”
Richard’s eyes stayed on Suzie. “I’ll come back tonight. Without an audience.”
She felt the floor tilt beneath her. “Don’t.”
But he was already at the door. “You owe me more than silence, Suzie.”
The bell chimed as he stepped out, and she exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for five years.
- Writer
