brush it off as a late-night work call, a sudden craving for a snack. I tried to believe him.
The guest room, meanwhile, remained a fortress. Locked. Always. I’d casually tried the handle once or twice. “Still full of your ‘storage’?” I’d teased, trying to lighten the mood. He’d just offer a tight smile, a quick “Yep, still getting it sorted,” and change continue reading …
