57. Chapter 57
Cate
Present
The house felt louder after Trevor left.
Not in any obvious way; there were no slamming doors or rattling windows. But in the absence of him, the quiet seemed to stretch. It echoed differently, made room for things I hadn’t been able to hear with him moving through the space.
He’d kissed my forehead at the door, brief and careful, like I was something fragile.
“Try to rest,” he’d said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
I’d nodded and smiled when I was supposed to.
I stood there longer than necessary, listening to the hum of the refrigerator, the faint tick of a clock I had no part in picking. This house was ours - his word, not mine - but it still felt like a hotel I hadn’t unpacked in.
I moved to the living room, sinking onto the couch, phone in hand.
No new messages.
That shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did. Seth had been hovering at the edge of everything since yesterday, his concern pressing in from every direction, and now there was nothing.
I stared at his name in my contacts, thumb hovering.
Trevor’s voice drifted through my head. We’ll update him later.
I didn’t know when later was supposed to be, but before I could overthink it, I typed a quick message.
Me: I’m home. Trevor’s at work. I’m okay
The reply came quickly.
Seth: Are you?
I stared at the screen for a second, then typed the truth.
Me: I don’t know
Seth: Do you want me to come by?
I hesitated only a moment before answering.
Me: Yeah
He didn’t respond with anything dramatic. Just…
Seth: On my way
I set the phone down and leaned back into the couch, staring at the ceiling. The quiet pressed in again, but this time it felt less like emptiness and more like a waiting room.
My mind drifted back to the interview. The careful way Detective Marshal had spoken. The way Trevor had answered questions before I could. The way certain details had been omitted.
How did John die?
Where did they find him?
How long had he been gone before anyone knew?
The answers weren’t hidden from me.
I realized, I just hadn’t asked.
At the time, it had felt like self-preservation. Like if I didn’t know the details, I could keep John intact, whole and untouched by whatever had happened in the dark.
But sitting there alone, I felt something else tugging at the edges of that logic.
Why hasn’t anyone told me?
A knock at the door broke the thought.
I didn’t rush to answer it. I didn’t check the window first. I just stood and walked to the door like I’d done a thousand times before my life fractured.
Seth stood on the porch, hands in his jacket pockets, eyes soft with concern when he saw me
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
He stepped inside when I waved him in, glancing around the living room in that quiet way of his, like he was taking inventory without making it obvious.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I think so,” I said. Then, more honestly, “I don’t know.”
He nodded like that answer made sense.
We sat at opposite ends of the couch at first, a careful distance between us.
“I was worried,” he said after a moment. “When you didn’t call.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“I’m not mad,” he said quickly. “I just needed to see you. Make sure you were… coping.”
The word settled heavier than he probably intended.
“Everything feels unreal,” I admitted
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That tracks.”
Silence stretched between us.
“Cate,” he said after a moment, “can I ask you something?”
I nodded.
“Did they tell you what happened?”
My stomach tightened. “What do you mean?”
He held my gaze. “How John died.”
There it was. The question I’d been circling without touching.
“No,” I said slowly. “They didn’t.”
His jaw tightened, subtle but visible.
“Okay,” he said. “I wanted to be sure.”
“Trevor said it would just make things harder,” I added, staring at my hands.
“It would,” Seth agreed carefully. “If you weren’t ready.”
I looked up at him. “Do you think I am?”
“That’s not for me to decide.”
“I don’t know if I want to know,” I admitted. “Part of me is afraid that if I know, it’ll make it real.”
Seth nodded. “That makes sense.”
“But I also don’t like feeling like everyone else knows something I don’t.” The words slipped out before I could stop them. “I haven’t even called work.”
His brows pulled together. “What do you mean?”
“I was supposed to go back yesterday.” I exhaled slowly. “Trevor said I didn’t need to rush. That a break would be good.”
“And?”
“And I didn’t argue.”
The admission felt heavier than it should have.
My inbox was probably full. My projects reassigned. Clients handed off - or worse, waiting.
“What do you want to do?” Seth asked.
That question again.
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “Everything feels like too much and not enough at the same time.”
“That’s fair.”
The quiet that followed felt different now. Sharper. Awake.
“Cate,” he said gently, “you’ve fought your way through worse than this.”
I didn’t answer.
“Don’t forget who you are,” he added. “That’s the part he loved the most.”
My throat tightened. “I don’t know if I remember how.”
He didn’t argue with that. He just checked the time on his phone.
“I should get back,” he said quietly. “I’ve already stretched my lunch longer than I should have.”
Lunch.
The word startled me a little. I’d completely lost track of the time. Again.
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “Of course.”
He stood, hesitating just long enough to make it clear he didn’t want to leave me alone, but wasn’t going to stay unless I asked.
I didn’t.
At the door, he paused. “You don’t have to decide anything today,” he said. “But you are allowed answers. Whenever you want them.”
“I know,” I said softly.
He gave me one last searching look, then stepped outside.
The door closed gently behind him.
The house felt different again. Not louder. Not quieter.
Just… waiting.
I stood there for a moment, hand still on the doorframe, and let the truth settle into place.
No one had told me how John died.
Not the detective.
Not Seth.
Not Trevor.
And I hadn’t asked.
But for the first time since all of this cracked open, I wasn’t sure ignorance felt like protection anymore.
It felt like something else.
And I didn’t know yet whether I was being kept safe or just being kept.