Chapter 4 - WHY HE MARRIED ME
I did not go home with Ethan that night.
I went to my late mother’s townhouse in Oak Park, the one I still kept because I had never been able to sell it after she passed. I sat in the dark living room until dawn with Laura’s old photograph album open on my lap and the Flight 427 file spread across the carpet like evidence in a murder case.
At 6:12 a.m., Ethan came anyway.
He had a key.
I almost threw him out.
Instead I said, “You get five minutes.”
He stood in the doorway of the living room looking like he had aged ten years overnight.
“I should have told you sooner.”
“Yes.”
“I know how this looks.”
“No,” I said quietly. “I don’t think you do.”
He flinched.
Good.
I pointed at the file.
“You married me knowing you were on the flight that killed my aunt.”
His eyes closed.
“Not at first.”
I froze.
“What?”
He came farther into the room, but slowly, carefully, as if I were an animal that might bolt.
“When we met, I knew your last name. Whitmore isn’t common in aviation circles. But I didn’t know you were Laura’s niece until our third date.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“Because you told me about the woman who used to sneak you milkshakes after school. You laughed when you said her name, and I knew.”
The ache that rose in my chest was almost unbearable.
“And you still kept seeing me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His answer came so fast I believed it before I wanted to.
“Because by then I was already in love with you.”
I looked away.
That was the problem with Ethan.
Even furious, even wounded, I knew when he was telling the truth.
He stepped closer.
“I didn’t pursue you because of the flight. I stayed because of you. I married you because of you.”
“Then why keep the rest hidden?”
His shoulders slumped.
“Because I thought I was protecting you.”
I laughed bitterly.
“There it is. The anthem of stupid men.”
His mouth tightened, but he let me say it.
“Protecting me from what?”
“From choosing between me and your family.”
I stared at him.
Then he said the sentence that finally explained the hotel room.
“The anonymous source who sent us the new records also sent a note.”
“What note?”
He reached into his jacket and gave me a folded page.
I opened it.
One line.
If Claire Whitmore learns what Laura carried, she’ll become the next liability.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
My hands shook.
“You believed this?”
“Yes.”
“Enough to hide in hotel rooms with a flight attendant?”
“Enough to keep you away while we verified whether the threat was real.”
I stood.
“You don’t get to decide what I can survive.”
“I know that now.”
“No,” I said. “You know that because you failed.”
He took that blow without defending himself.
Then he said quietly, “There’s something else.”
I almost screamed.
“Of course there is.”
He looked at me with raw exhaustion.
“The source wants to meet.”
“When?”
He swallowed.
“Tonight.”
May you like
“And?”
“He asked for you by name.”
