I lie there, looking up at the ceiling,as if the very weight of having found these things hung around me like an unbreathing blanket.
The gun.
It sat in James’ desk like a silent threat, an undeniable confirmation that I had no idea who I had really married.
I felt sick.
For the past few weeks, I had sensed something was wrong—the secrets, the late-night calls, the way he watched me so closely. But I never imagined this.
My mind replayed everything I had ignored.
Every lie.
Every omission.
Every warning.
I rolled onto my side and looked over at James next to me. He looked so peaceful, his face softened in sleep. The same man who held me at night. Who whispered my name with such tenderness.
But that tenderness was a lie.
James wasn’t just dangerous. He was armed.
And if he figur
