Beverly's POV

Bruce knew. I could see it in his eyes the morning after he read my journal and I could feel it in the careful way he moved around me like I was made of glass.

He did not confront me about the entries. He did not ask if I meant what I wrote or demand explanations for doubts I barely understood myself. The silence felt worse than any argument could have been.

We stopped talking about anything that mattered. Our conversations became functional exchanges about Emma's schedule and ...