Chapter 29 Secrets and Lies (Doris Vale POV)
My phone buzzes at seven-thirty. Donald's name flashes on the screen.
Running late. Be there around midnight. Sorry.
I stare at the message, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. Where are you? I type, then delete it. Everything okay? Delete. Need anything? Delete.
Finally: Okay. Be safe.
No response.
I set the phone on the coffee table and lean back against the couch. The apartment feels too quiet, the silence pressing in. I've been sitting here since six, waiting. Dinner's ready, pasta with marinara, garlic bread warming in the oven. I turn off the oven now, covering the food with foil.
Midnight. Four and a half hours.
I grab my phone again, scrolling to Eddie's contact. My finger hovers over the call button. I've tried him three times in the past week. Voicemail every time. But maybe...
I hit call.
It rings once. Twice. Three times.
"You've reached Eddie. Leave a message."
I hang up without speaking.
My journal sits on the kitchen table, spine cracked from overuse. I flip it open to a blank page, pen in hand. The words come slowly at first, then faster.
I don't know what to do. The Surgeon won't answer. Eddie's ghosted me. Donald's family is dying, and I can't stop it. I can't fix this. Every day I wake up and think, maybe today I'll tell him. Maybe today I'll find the courage. But then he looks at me like I'm the only good thing left in his life, and I can't. I just can't.
What kind of person does that make me? What kind of monster hires someone to murder a family, falls in love with the target, and still can't tell the truth?
I stop writing, my hand shaking. The pen drops onto the table.
Another confession letter. I could write another one. Put everything down on paper; who I am, what I did, why I did it. Slide it under his door and disappear before he reads it.
But I burned the last one. And I'll burn the next one too.
Because I'm a coward.
I close the journal and stand, moving to the kitchen. Pour myself a glass of water I don't drink. Stare out the window at the street below. A car passes, headlights cutting through the dark. Not his.
At ten, I try working. Open my laptop, pull up the Henderson account revisions Martin sent yesterday. The numbers blur together. I close it after five minutes.
At eleven, I shower. Let the hot water run over me until it turns cold. Wrap myself in a towel and sit on the edge of the bed, staring at Sarah's photo on the dresser.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I'm so sorry."
Her smile doesn't change.
At eleven-forty, I hear his car pull into the parking lot. I'm already dressed—sweatpants, old T-shirt, hair still damp. I stand by the window, watching him get out. He moves slowly, shoulders hunched, like he's carrying something heavy.
The knock comes a minute later. I open the door.
"Hey." His voice is rough, tired.
"Hey."
He steps inside, and I close the door behind him. He drops his keys on the counter, shrugging off his jacket. There's something different about him tonight—more distant, more guarded.
"You hungry?" I ask. "I made pasta."
"Not really. But thanks."
"Coffee?"
"No. I'm good." He walks to the couch, sitting heavily. "Sorry I'm so late."
"It's okay." I sit beside him, not too close. "Long day?"
"Yeah. Something like that."
"Work stuff?"
He hesitates, his jaw working. "Catching up with an old friend. Hadn't seen them in a while."
"That's nice. Anyone I know?"
"No. Just... someone from before."
Before. Before me. Before this town. Before everything fell apart.
"Good visit?" I ask.
"It was fine."
Fine.
"Don..."
"I'm really tired, Dora." He turns to look at me, and there's something in his eyes I can't read. "Can we just… not talk tonight? Just be here?"
I nod. "Yeah. Of course."
He reaches for my hand, pulling me closer. I lean into him, my head on his shoulder. We sit like that for a while, the silence stretching. His breathing is uneven, his fingers tapping against my arm. That nervous habit he has when something's bothering him.
"You sure you're okay?" I ask quietly.
"Yeah." His voice is tight. "Just a lot on my mind."
I don't push. Just sit there, feeling the weight of everything we're not saying.
After a while, he stands, pulling me up with him. "Come on."
We move to the bedroom. He kisses me, slow at first, then harder. Desperate. Like he's trying to lose himself in it. I kiss him back, my hands finding the buttons on his shirt, fumbling with them.
Clothes hit the floor. We fall onto the bed, hands and mouths and skin. But something's off. He's here, but he's not. His mind's somewhere else, somewhere I can't reach.
I try to pull him back—whisper his name, touch his face, hold him tighter. But the distance remains, a wall neither of us acknowledges.
Within minutes, he's asleep.
I stare at the ceiling, wide awake.
Who was he with today? This "old friend" he won't name. Why won't he tell me?
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I reach for it carefully, trying not to wake him.
Text from Martin: Got the Henderson revisions. Looks good. New client wants a call tomorrow. 10 AM your time. That work?
I type back: Yeah. I'll be ready.
I set the phone down and roll onto my side, facing Donald. His face is peaceful in sleep, the lines around his eyes softer. He looks younger like this. Less haunted.
I reach out, tracing the curve of his jaw with my finger. He doesn't stir.
What aren't you telling me?
The question loops in my head, relentless. An old friend. Catching up. Running late.
It could be nothing. Probably is nothing. But the way he said it—the hesitation, the vague answer—it felt like a lie. Or at least a truth he didn't want to share.
And I have no right to judge him for that. Not when I'm lying about everything.
I pull my hand back, curling into myself. The weight of Donald's arm is comforting and suffocating all at once.
We're both keeping secrets now. Both hiding pieces of ourselves, too afraid or too guilty to speak the truth.
How long can this last? How long before one of us breaks?
I close my eyes, but sleep doesn't come. Just thoughts spinning endlessly—Donald's evasion, Eddie's silence, The Surgeon's ghost, Sarah's frozen smile.
And beneath it all, the question I can't answer: What happens when he finds out?