Mark was awake, weak but conscious.

“Where were you?” he asked hoarsely.

“I went to your storage unit.”

Silence swallowed the room.

“You shouldn’t have,” he said.

“It’s done,” I replied. “So explain.”

He glanced toward the door like he wished someone would interrupt.

“That was private,” he said faintly.

“I’m your wife,” I said. “At least I thought I was.”

He turned away.

I waited.

“Her name was Elaine,” I said. “She was your wife. She died. And you disappeared.”

His shoulders slumped.

“I hoped you’d never find that wallet.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He closed his eyes. “I didn’t kill her.”

“I didn’t say you did. But something happened that made you run.”

He looked at me, fear visible in his eyes.

“It was an accident,” he whispered. “We were arguing. Elaine fell down the stairs. Neighbors heard us shouting. I found her at the bottom… not moving.”

My chest tightened. “And they suspected you.”

“They thought I might have done it,” he said quietly. “They questioned me for weeks. Picked apart everything. Every glance said the same thing — they didn’t believe me.”

“So you ran.”