Chapter 2 - Ask, Don't AccuseShe picked up on the third ring, groggy. "Whitney? It's eight in the morning. This had better be you calling to brag about your wedding night."
"I found something in Grant's tuxedo."
Every trace of sleep vanished from her voice instantly. "What kind of something?"
"A little brass key. A note from someone whose name starts with V. And a receipt from a jewelry store, three weeks old, for an amount of money that made my stomach turn over."
Silence on the line for a beat too long.
"Read me the note," she said carefully.
I did.
"Priya, he was carrying this in his tuxedo during our wedding. He had it in his pocket while he was saying his vows to me."
"Okay. Don't spiral yet."
"I think I have a pretty solid reason to spiral."
"No," she said, firm. "You have a scary theory. That is not the same thing as knowing what actually happened."
I turned the little brass key over in my fingers. "Who do we know whose name starts with V?"
"Nobody. Not off the top of my head."
"Not his mother, not his sister, nobody in my family either."
"An ex, maybe?"
"He hasn't spoken to any of his exes in years. I'd know."
"What did the receipt actually say he bought?"
"Nothing specific. Just the store name and the total."
Priya sighed hard enough that I heard it crackle through the phone. "Whitney. Listen to me carefully. I know exactly how your brain works right now. Do not walk back into that room and accuse him of anything."
"I wasn't going to."
"You were absolutely already halfway there."
I laughed despite myself, a short, disbelieving sound. "Okay. Maybe I was."
"Ask him. Calmly. And actually watch his face while he answers. Grant is a terrible liar — he couldn't even keep the honeymoon destination secret from you for more than a week."
"That's what scares me the most, honestly. He's terrible at keeping secrets, and somehow he's been sitting on this one anyway."
"Then there are exactly two options," Priya said. "Either it's something huge and awful, or it's something huge and completely innocent. There's no version where you know which one until you actually ask him."
I stared down at the key again. Too small for a house. Too small for a car. Maybe a jewelry box. Maybe a locker somewhere.
Maybe something much worse.
"What if I married someone I don't actually know?"
"You've been with this man for four years, Whitney."
"People hide things for years. People hide things for decades."
"Not him. Not this one."
I wanted so badly to believe her completely.
"I can't sit on a nine-hour flight to Rome wondering about this the entire time."
"Then ask him now. Just remember — ask, don't accuse. And call me the second it's over."
May you like
"I will."
I stood in that hallway another full minute, staring down at my wedding ring under the ugly fluorescent lighting, before I finally made myself go back inside.
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