I shook my head.
“You knew exactly how this room would look before anyone explained it.”
His expression didn’t change.
“You didn’t have to lie.”
I stepped closer.
“You only had to let my imagination do the work.”
He looked away.
That silence told me everything.
Ethan quietly spoke behind me.
“When Victor came to the farm last month…”
I turned.
“He told me he wanted to make peace before the wedding.”
“I believed him.”
“I went to repair the south fence.”
“When I came back…”
He looked toward the open door.
“…the shed had been opened.”
Victor finally spoke.
“I was curious.”
“You read Rose’s labels.”
“You saw every archive box.”
“You knew exactly where the photographs came from.”
He didn’t deny it.
Instead, he quietly admitted,
“I knew what she’d think if she walked in without hearing the story.”
My stomach tightened.
“You wanted me to doubt him.”
Victor didn’t answer.
Because he couldn’t.
His silence had become a confession.
Ethan looked at me.
“I’m sorry.”
He didn’t say it dramatically.
He simply meant it.
“I’m not sorry my grandmother documented this county.”
“I’m not sorry we preserved her life’s work.”
“But I am sorry…”
He swallowed.
“…that the first thing you felt tonight was fear.”
That was the difference.
Victor wanted my fear.
Ethan regretted causing it.
I slowly turned around.
Once again I looked at the walls.
They no longer resembled evidence.
The choir picture.
The parade photograph.
My graduation.
The newspaper clipping.
Each one belonged to public events Rose had spent decades documenting.
The red thread suddenly looked ridiculous.
I pointed at it.
“We’re taking that down first.”
Ethan blinked.
“What?”
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