Chương 6
“And?”
“And I didn’t know what I would find.”
The honesty was uncomfortable.
She believed him.
That was the problem.
Evan was not hiding something because he wanted to hurt her.
He was hiding something because he was afraid of what the truth would demand from him.
“What does Lydia want?” Maren asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You brought her here.”
“She wanted to explain.”
“To me?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t she come inside?”
Evan looked toward the door.
The answer was visible on his face.
Because he was afraid.
Because Lydia was afraid.
Because whatever was waiting behind this information was larger than a marriage ending.
Maren stood.
“Call her.”
Evan blinked.
“What?”
“Call her.”
“Maren.”
“No.”
She walked toward the window.
“I am done with people deciding what I can handle.”
Her reflection stared back at her.
Scarred.
Tired.
Still standing.
“I spent years being told to be careful.”
She touched the edge of her neck where the scars disappeared beneath her blouse.
“Careful with my body.”
A pause.
“Careful with my feelings.”
Another pause.
“Careful with the truth.”
She looked at him.
“I don’t want careful anymore.”
Evan remained silent.
Then he reached into his pocket.
He pulled out his phone.
For a moment, Maren thought he would refuse.
Instead, he unlocked the screen.
He found Lydia’s name.
His thumb hovered above the call button.
And that tiny hesitation told Maren something she had not known before.
Whatever came next, Evan was not just afraid of losing her.
He was afraid of what Lydia might finally say.
He was afraid of what Lydia might finally say.
Evan pressed the call button.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Maren watched his face instead of the screen.
She noticed the way his shoulders rose slightly with each ring.
A person could hide a lot with words.
The body was less cooperative.
Lydia answered.
“Evan?”
Her voice sounded different without the careful politeness she had used in the hallway.
She sounded tired.
“She’s here,” Evan said.
A pause followed.
Maren could hear the faint noise of traffic through the phone.
“Okay,” Lydia replied.
Maren stepped closer.
“Put her on speaker.”
Evan looked at her.
For a moment, he seemed ready to argue.
Then he turned the speaker on.
“Hi, Maren.”
Maren said nothing.
The silence lasted long enough that Lydia finally spoke again.
“I know you probably hate me.”
“No.”
The answer surprised both of them.
Maren looked toward the window.
“I don’t know you well enough to hate you.”
Another pause.
“But I know what you did.”
Lydia exhaled softly.
“Yes.”
The acceptance caught Maren off guard.
She expected excuses.
Denial.
Something easier to fight.
Not this.
“Why were you there that night?” Maren asked.
“I wasn’t.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I know.”
Lydia’s voice became quieter.
“I was there afterward.”
“After the fire.”
“Yes.”
“And you never contacted me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
The silence stretched.
When Lydia finally answered, her voice had changed.
“Because I was afraid.”
Maren almost smiled.
Everyone was afraid.
That word had become a place where people hid.
“Of what?”
“Of being wrong.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does to me.”
Maren looked at Evan.
He was listening with the same expression he had worn when doctors explained her recovery.
A mixture of guilt and helplessness.
Lydia continued.
“I was a junior reviewer at the time.”
“Reviewer for what?”
“Building safety reports.”
Maren felt her fingers tighten.
“And you found something?”
“I found inconsistencies.”
“What kind?”
“Inspection dates that didn’t match maintenance records.”
The apartment became silent.
Even Evan looked surprised.
Maren turned toward him.
“You didn’t know that?”
He shook his head slightly.
“No.”
Lydia continued.
“I thought it was a mistake.”
“A mistake?”
“Yes.”
Maren walked slowly toward the table.
Her hand rested on the back of the chair where Evan had sat countless times.
“A mistake that killed people.”
The words were quiet.
That made them heavier.
Lydia did not argue.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
“You weren’t the one who lost your home.”
“No.”
“You weren’t the one who woke up in a hospital.”
“No.”
“You weren’t the one who had to look in the mirror afterward.”
A long pause.
Then Lydia said something Maren did not expect.
“My brother was in the building.”
Maren stopped.
Evan looked up.
“What?”
Lydia’s voice became uneven.
“He was on the second floor.”
The rain outside continued.
“He survived.”
Maren said nothing.
“He had smoke damage and injuries, but he survived.”
Lydia swallowed.
“I was lucky.”
The word sounded painful.
“People always say they are lucky when they are standing on the side where someone else lost something.”
Maren looked down.
She knew that feeling.
Survivors carried strange guilt.
They carried questions nobody else could answer.
Why me?
Why them?
Why did I get another morning?
“I kept reviewing the records,” Lydia said.
“After your brother?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I thought if I understood what happened, I could prove it.”
Maren glanced at Evan.
“And then?”
“Then I found out someone had altered files.”
The room seemed to narrow.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Maren closed her eyes briefly.
Another incomplete answer.
Another door that opened into another hallway.
“Do you have proof?”
“Yes.”
Evan looked at the phone.
“You never told me you had proof.”
“I told you I had concerns.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No.”
Lydia’s voice became firmer.
“That’s why I came to you.”
Maren looked at Evan.
“You went to her.”
“I found the files through work.”
“No.”
She shook her head.
“You went to her.”
Evan looked uncomfortable.
“I contacted her because I needed answers.”
“And then?”
He looked away.
Maren understood before he spoke.
“And then you got close.”
“Yes.”
The honesty hurt.
Not because she was surprised.
Because she had spent so long trying to convince herself there was another explanation.
Lydia spoke again.
“Maren, I need you to understand something.”
“I’m listening.”
May you like
“I did not know about your marriage.”
Maren looked at Evan.
