Rain hammered against the windows of George's Chicago apartment, a relentless drumming that matched the rhythm of his restless thoughts. The gray sky outside mirrored the uncertainty that still lingered in his heart, even after all the revelations. He stood at the window, watching water cascade down the glass, each drop a reminder of the tears that had been shed over the years.
The diary was in his hands again. He'd read it so many times that the spine was cracked and the pages were soft from handling. But there was still something about it that called to him. Some secret he hadn't fully uncovered. Some truth that remained buried.
Sam found him there, still in his bathrobe, the coffee on the counter long gone cold.
"You've been standing there for an hour," she said softly.
George turne
