CHAPTER FOURTY-SEVEN
KIERAN
Something was wrong with my wife. I'd known it for weeks but now it was getting impossible to ignore. Melinda came home exhausted every day, barely able to keep her eyes open through dinner. She'd lost weight, her clothes hanging looser on her frame despite Maria making all her favorite foods.
And her hands. God, her hands were different.
I caught her wrist one morning as she reached for her coffee cup, turning her palm up to examine it. The skin was rough, small cuts and healing blisters dotted her fingers.
"What happened?" I asked.
She pulled away quickly, hiding her hands in her lap. "Nothing. Just dry skin from the weather."
"That's not dry skin. Those are calluses." I reached for her hand again but she stood up, moving away from the table. "Melinda,
