Sandra pressed a hand against her chest, trying to steady her hammering heart. The officers’ questions replayed again and again—other names, other cities, other identities. Had Jake hidden something from her? Had she missed something obvious? Her breath came fast, shallow, her tired mind scrambling for answers that didn’t exist.
A nurse offered her water, but Sandra couldn’t lift the cup. Her hands shook too violently. “He’s a good man,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. But each unanswered question twisted that belief, bending it into fragile shapes she struggled to hold together.