That was not what I saw.
Richard was hunched forward, both elbows on the table, his face arranged into an expression of careful, fatherly concern. He was speaking low. Chloe was leaning back, very still, her jaw set in a way I knew too well.
I stopped a few feet away, behind a wooden divider, and listened.
“I worry about her, you know,” he murmured. “She’s been so stressed lately. Forgetting little things. I’m sure you’ve noticed it too, haven’t you, sweetheart?”
Chloe said nothing.
“I’m not trying to overstep,” he continued, lowering his voice further. “There’s just a lot of paperwork coming at her this month with the wedding, and I can see it wearing her down.”
He continued, “If you could gently encourage her to take her time with all of it, not rush, not sign anything when she’s this exhausted, it would put my mind at ease. She’ll listen to you. She trusts you in a way she doesn’t quite trust me yet.”
I felt the blood leave my face.
“I’m only thinking of her,” he added softly. “Someone has to look out for her when she won’t look out for herself.”
Chloe’s eyes lifted and found mine over his shoulder. They were wide, almost wet, full of something between horror and apology.
He had been testing doors, gently, the way he tested every door, and now he had found one that would open. It all snapped into place like a key turning in a lock I never knew was on my own front door.
