I slipped back home on my lunch break to check on my sick husband. I tried not to make a sound, but his voice carried down the hall—low, urgent, nothing like the weak tone he’d been putting on for me…

Showered. Shaved. Dressed in a crisp button-down.

No cough.

No blanket.

“You look better,” I said casually.

“Much,” he replied.

“Big day?” I asked lightly.

He paused for a fraction of a second.

“Just errands,” he said.

I nodded and grabbed my purse.

“I’ll come with you,” I said.

He blinked.

“What?”

“To the county office,” I said. “I have paperwork too.”

His face froze—just a beat too long.

Then he smiled.

“Claire,” he said gently, “it’s boring stuff. You don’t need to—”

“I want to,” I interrupted softly. “We’re a team, right?”

His eyes searched my face.

I held the smile.

After a long moment, he nodded.

“Sure,” he said.

He didn’t know yet.

That I’d already moved my pieces.

That I wasn’t walking into his plan.

He was walking into mine.

Friday morning had that brittle kind of cold that made everything feel sharper than it should.

The sky was pale, washed-out, like the city hadn’t fully committed to being awake. I stood in the kitchen with a mug of coffee I wasn’t drinking and watched Ethan move around the room like a man performing normalcy.