And he’s so good at this, at explaining away all this baggage he’s kept locked away for years. It’s part of what attracted me to him—not the baggage, but his battle scars. The way we’d both emerged from our respective tragedies, damaged but still breathing.

Now, though, the answers seem too easy. The deeds, Katherine’s finances, his complicated history with Jax. I’m still missing an essential piece of the puzzle, and he’s still intentionally leaving it out. If Sam were here, he’d say it’s because my husband is a killer.

I think back to our roadside chat earlier today, those ugly words he said about the man I married. That Paul doesn’t have an alibi for Wednesday morning. That he and Katherine had been fighting before she died. That last one he’d heard from Micah—Paul’s lifelong best friend, the best man at our wedding—and he wasn’t the only one of Paul’s friends issuing a warning. Watch your back, Jax said to me, and I didn’t want to listen to him, either.

I look at Paul—the man I love, the father of my unborn child, the man I stood before in a church and made such beautiful promises—and I can’t separate the truth from the fiction. What is real? I have no idea.

“Are you cold?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“But you’re shivering.”

I sit on my hands, but it doesn’t stop them from shaking.

“Come on. Let’s get you home before you freeze.”

Paul gathers up the trash, stacking everything in a neat pile, tossing it into the barrel a few feet away. When he returns, he reaches out a hand, and I let him pull me off the bench. Tessie Williams, a former friend who filled her belly with shrimp cocktail and champagne at our wedding, snickers with her boyfriend as we pass.

We stop at the car, and I’m digging out my keys when he wraps a hand around my wrist. “Are we good?” No smile this time, but the message is clear. Do you believe me? Do you still love me like you used to?

Before this week, I wouldn’t have had to think about my answer, not even for a second. From the first time Paul and I met at my gas station counter, my feelings for him haven’t wavered. Not when my friends stopped waving when I walked down the streets of town. Not when every restaurant like this one fell silent, even though it’s filled with folks who talk plenty behind my back. Not once have I ever doubted my love for Paul, or that marrying him was the right thing.