Page 157 of Unrequited
He doesn’t make mistakes. He doesn’t do anything accidentally. His mind is a vault.
Every decision, calculated with precision.
So when I see that key and find myself alone in the house the next morning, I know exactly what I need to do. Still, I wait.
I wait until the sun sets and the motion sensors around the property come on—signaling someone is getting close, even Seamus. I wait until I’m surrounded in darkness, then flick on the hallway light and hold the key in the palm of my hand. It feels symbolic somehow.
After everything we’ve been through, after everything we’ve done, this key feels like the beginning of understanding my husband. Even now, a tiny part of me wonders if I’ll find something that will make me want to turn away.
But the second that question surfaces, I know the answer.
There is nothing—nothing—that could ever keep me away from him.
No demon he could unearth. No secret he could confess. Nothing that could keep me away from the man I love. The man I’ve given my life to. The man I’ve vowed to.
He owns every piece of my heart. And no matter what I find beyond that door, nothing is going to change.
Not now. Not ever.
Warmth floods my chest with that certainty, and I clutch the key tighter, smiling to myself in the darkness.
Really, this is it.
This is the moment.
This is what I’ve been waiting for.
I take a deep breath, slide the key into the lock, and turn.
At first, it seems like nothing. An office?
He kept an office for me? There’s a desk and a few things in the corner of the room.
Did I really build this all up in my mind just to find…
Oh. Wait.
I walk over to the desk—it’s flimsy. This chair wouldn’t hold Seamus’s weight for anything.
Is this a prop?
I move the chair aside gingerly, waiting. Behind the desk, there’s a wall. A wall that isn’t just a wall. I tap it gently, and it gives way.
I cover my mouth when dust rises, revealing a hidden sanctuary.
If you opened the door and glanced in, all you’d see is an old, unused desk and nothing else.
But here…
Oh, God.
My knees give out and I sink into a chair.
There are boxes upon boxes, all labeled with dates.
With trembling hands, I open the first one.
A pair of pearl earrings. Dated over a year ago.
