The Things She Wouldn't Say
(Ethan's POV)
The rain began just after noon.
Soft at first.
Then steady enough to blur the city beyond Ethan's office windows.
He glanced at his phone for what felt like the tenth time that day.
Nothing.
That wasn't like Ophelia.
She usually replied within minutes, even if it was only with a short message.
He frowned.
Maybe she was busy.
He tried to return to the contract spread across his desk.
Five minutes later, he looked at his phone again.
Still nothing.
A quiet knock interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in."
Samantha stepped inside carrying a folder.
"These are the revised documents for the Lagos project."
Ethan accepted them without looking.
"You've checked your phone twelve times in the last hour."
"I have not."
"You have."
She smiled knowingly.
"Should I tell her you're worried?"
He looked up.
"I am not worried."
"Then why haven't you signed a single page in twenty minutes?"
He glanced down.
The pen was still resting exactly where he'd left it.
Without another word, Samantha turned toward the door.
As she reached it, she smiled.
"I hope she's okay."
The door clicked shut.
Ethan leaned back in his chair.
"So do I."
Across the city...
Ophelia sat alone in her apartment.
The bouquet wrapper from the cemetery still lay folded neatly on the kitchen counter.
She hadn't found the strength to throw it away.
Her phone vibrated.
Ethan.
She stared at his name.
Her thumb hovered over the screen.
She wanted to answer.
She wanted to hear his voice.
But she couldn't trust herself.
Not today.
Not after everything she had whispered at April's grave.
The call stopped.
A moment later, a message appeared.
Ethan: I hope your day is going okay. No need to reply if you're busy. Just wanted you to know I was thinking about you.
Her eyes filled with tears.
She pressed the phone against her chest.
"You are too kind," she whispered.
"And that makes this so much harder."
Because every moment she spent with Ethan made the lie she was living feel heavier.
That evening, Vivian arrived unannounced.
She balanced two takeaway bags in one hand and used the other to knock repeatedly.
"Open the door!"
"I know you're inside."
Ophelia managed a weak smile before unlocking it.
Vivian stepped inside and stopped immediately.
"You've been crying."
"I'm fine."
"That wasn't an answer."
Vivian placed the food on the dining table before pulling Ophelia into a gentle hug.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Vivian whispered,
"Was today difficult?"
Ophelia nodded.
"It always will be."
Vivian squeezed her hand.
"She would've hated seeing you skip meals."
A faint smile appeared.
"She really would."
"Then sit."
"We're eating."
"No arguments."
After dinner, Vivian noticed Ethan's unopened message on Ophelia's phone.
"You haven't replied?"
"I don't know what to say."
"The truth."
"I can't."
Vivian sat beside her.
"You don't have to tell him everything."
"But don't push away someone who's only trying to care."
Ophelia looked down.
"What if caring about me puts him in danger?"
Vivian frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Ophelia quickly shook her head.
"Nothing."
She had almost said too much.
She couldn't.
Not even Vivian knew everything Anonymous had planned.
Later that night...
Unable to stop thinking about her, Ethan drove past the charity home.
It was dark.
Closed.
Then, almost without realizing it, he found himself outside her apartment building.
He stayed in his car.
The lights in her living room were on.
He considered going upstairs.
His hand even reached for the door handle.
But he stopped.
"If she needs space..."
"I'll give her space."
Instead, he opened his phone.
Ethan: You don't have to explain anything. Whatever you're carrying, I hope one day you'll trust me enough to share it. Until then... I'll be here.
He pressed send.
Then drove away.
Inside her apartment, Ophelia read the message.
Twice.
Then a third time.
She smiled through her tears.
"I wish I could tell you the truth."
She looked toward the locked drawer in her bedroom.
Inside it...
Hidden beneath several files...
Lay a worn leather diary.
Its cover was faded.
Its pages filled with April's handwriting.
The diary she had sworn would bring down the people responsible for her sister's death.
She closed her eyes.
"No."
"Not yet."