Inside was a letter.
Troy’s handwriting.
I lied to you. I chose to.
He explained everything.
The hotel stays weren’t about escape. They were for medical treatment he couldn’t bring himself to explain. He was afraid that if I knew, I’d see him as someone to care for instead of someone to stand beside.
So he paid for rooms. Hid transfers. Answered poorly.
And stayed silent.
You did nothing wrong, he wrote. You made your choice with the truth you had.
I sat with that letter for a long time.
He had lied—but now I understood why.
I folded the paper carefully and placed it back in the envelope.
And I grieved—not just the man I lost, but the life we might have had if he’d trusted me enough to let me in.
