What Was My Husband Hiding? I Followed the Noise and Found Out Too Much (2 of 4)

His door was cracked open. A soft glow glimmered from inside.

I hesitated. My breath hitched. Then I pushed forward.

He didn’t notice me at first. He was hunched over, unmoving, his shoulders tight. One hand clenched something small and metallic—whatever it was, he was gripping it like it held his soul. I moved closer, my heart hammering in my chest.

“Alex?” I whispered.

He jumped. His eyes met mine—and I’ll never forget the fear that bloomed in them. Not fear of being caught. Fear of something far worse.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured, voice raw.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “What are you hiding?”

He shook his head. “It’s not time yet.”

But it was. I could feel it in my bones—the storm gathering, the weight of secrets too long buried pressing against the walls.

The object slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor. I reached for it, but he was quicker, snatching it back with panicked urgency. Then came the sound—a crack like splintering wood from somewhere deeper in the house.

We both froze.