It was Sunday morning when I woke up to the faint buzz of my phone. A message from an old high school classmate lit up the screen: there's a reunion next Sunday, and they want my help planning it. I smiled at the thought—briefly—but then reality crashed back in. Would Darian even let me go?
I slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb the stillness of the house. Darian's voice echoed in my head: "You're safest at home." He wouldn't come with me this time—he had a meeting. But he'd never let me go alone.
I found him in the study, already dressed in his black suit and crimson tie, his dark eyes scanning a tablet. To the world, he was a perfect husband: a sharp businessman, a doting father. They didn't know the truth.
"Darian," I said, hesitating. "I have a favor to ask."