“Thank you kindly, young man,” Arthur said, tipping his hat to us both. He gave my eyes one final, meaningful look—a clear silent warning to be careful—before turning and walking back down the drive to his silver sedan.

We stood on the porch together, watching Arthur’s car pull away and vanish down the mist-covered road. Michael’s hand remained firmly on my back, his fingers pressing gently into my spine.

“You look pale, sweetheart,” Michael whispered softly near my ear, his breath warm against my neck. “Is everything alright?”

I looked toward the driveway, taking a slow, steady breath to center myself, knowing that my life depended on playing the role he expected.

“I’m fine,” I said, forcing my voice to sound smooth, calm, and entirely oblivious. “Just feeling a little tired today. Let’s go inside and make some lunch.”

He smiled, completely satisfied, and opened the front door for me, unaware that the game he had been playing for two years was finally over.