--- . . . . Marilyn didn’t shout. That was what frightened Lucas the most. She stood across from him in the living room, arms folded loosely—not defensively, but as if holding herself together. Her eyes were steady, unreadable, stripped of the softness that usually lived there. “You met her,” she said. It wasn’t a question. Lucas exhaled slowly. “Yes.” “And you didn’t think to tell me.” “I didn’t think it was the right moment,” he replied carefully. “Things are… sensitive.” Marilyn let out a short, breathless laugh. “Sensitive?” She took a step closer. “You disappear. You stop touching me the same way. You leave before I wake up. Your phone is unreachable. And then I see photos of you with your ex and a child.” Her voice trembled despite her effort to control it. “And you t

