Ethan answered without hesitation.
“I expected it to look frightening.”
His shoulders sagged.
“That’s exactly why I kept putting off showing her.”
Victor folded his arms.
“And yet you waited until after she married you.”
The words landed like a stone.
I looked at Ethan.
For a brief moment, pain crossed his face.
“I know.”
He didn’t try to defend himself.
“I handled this badly.”
“Badly?” Victor scoffed.
“You built a room that looks like something investigators would find on the evening news.”
“I know.”
“You invited your bride here on your wedding night.”
“I know.”
“You told her you’d been waiting for her.”
Ethan let out a defeated sigh.
“I know exactly how that sounded.”
His honesty surprised me.
He wasn’t making excuses.
He wasn’t trying to twist the situation.
He simply looked devastated that he’d frightened me.
“I planned to explain Rose’s archive first,” he continued.
“Then show you how I organized it.”
He looked around the room.
“But every time I imagined bringing you here…”
His voice grew quieter.
“…I imagined the exact expression you’re wearing now.”
I swallowed hard.
Because he was right.
Fear.
Confusion.
Betrayal.
Those emotions had been written all over my face.
Victor stepped closer.
“Amelia.”
His voice softened.
“You don’t owe him understanding.”
I turned toward him.
Before I could answer, Ethan opened the center drawer of the old desk.
“There’s something else.”
I almost laughed from exhaustion.
“There’s always something else.”
He nodded.
“This matters.”
From inside the drawer he carefully removed a worn leather journal.
The cover was faded with age.
The edges of its pages had yellowed.
“My grandmother’s diary.”
He placed it gently in front of me.
“You should read the page marked with the ribbon.”
My fingers hesitated before opening it.
The handwriting was delicate.
Neat.
Steady.
The date had been written only six months before Rose died.
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