Digging for Clues
Still posing as potential buyers, Lisa and I press the neighbor for more details. She casually asks, “Does he ever mention what he’s doing here?” The man tilts his head, thinking. “Not really. Keeps to himself, always on the phone or shuffling papers,” he replies. That one comment opens up a whole new line of suspicion in my mind.
I can’t shake the image of my husband holed up in this house, juggling phone calls and documents like he’s running a second life. What kind of business would require such secrecy? It clearly isn’t innocent. We thank the neighbor politely, but inside, my stomach twists. Every new detail adds weight to the reality I’m piecing together — the man I married has carefully built a world I was never meant to see.
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