That night, she pulled me aside, eyes brimming with tears.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she said softly. “He’s been locking himself in my only bathroom for hours. I haven’t been able to use my own space.”
I defended him at first—travel nerves, maybe an upset stomach. But something didn’t sit right.
My heart sank. The pieces fell into place. He hadn’t been hiding from us—he’d been hiding from the truth.
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