Mike went to Eleanor’s house himself. She was sitting at the kitchen table when he arrived, hands folded, eyes red, waiting. She stood the moment she saw him, words spilling out before he could speak. “I didn’t know,” she said. “I swear to you. I would never—”
“I know,” Mike said, surprising himself with how steady his voice sounded. “That’s why I’m here.” She broke then. Not defensively. Not angrily. Just openly—grief and fear and shame collapsing into one. Mike sat across from her and waited until she could breathe again.