Glory stood at the kitchen sink, staring at the cold cup of tea she'd made hours ago. Her hands were still shaking from the garden — from the boy's voice, the look in his eyes.
She was my sister.
His words clung to her ribs like thorns. Cynthia hadn't spoken of any brother. Not once in all those years they'd spent whispering secrets and pretending they'd stay best friends forever.
The house behind her was too quiet. She could feel David's anger in the walls — not the loud, breaking-things kind, but the cold, tired kind that settled over everything like a blanket you couldn't pull off.
She jumped when the fridge door slammed shut. David stood there, staring at her. He held a half-eaten apple in his hand, but he hadn't taken a bite. He looked like he hadn't slept either — shadows under his eyes, hair a mess, shirt buttoned wrong.
"Where were you last night?" His voice was low, but it carried like thunder in the small kitchen.
Glory's lips parted, but the truth stuck in her throat. She forced her fingers to tighten around the tea mug, grounding herself.
"I went for a walk."
David barked out a humorless laugh. "At midnight? Alone?"
She didn't answer. She couldn't. The lie sounded pathetic even to her own ears.
He threw the apple into the sink. It bounced against the metal with a hollow clatter that made her flinch.
"You think I'm stupid?" he said, stepping closer. "You think I don't know you're hiding things from me?"
She could feel the heat of him now, so close. She stared at the buttons on his shirt instead of his eyes. "I'm protecting you."
"From what?" He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "From the truth? From your secrets? Or from yourself?"
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. "David, please—"
"Did you meet him?" His voice cracked — not angry now, but raw. "Who is it, Glory? Who's bleeding us dry?"
Her silence was answer enough. David let her go like she burned him. He stumbled back, running a hand through his hair.
"You don't trust me," he said. His laugh was small and empty. "After everything. You still think you have to fix this alone."
"I'm trying to fix us," she whispered. "I'm trying to save what's left of—"
"Don't." His voice rose, sharp. "Don't pretend this is about us. You're trying to bury her again."
The name hovered between them like a ghost neither of them could chase out.
Cynthia.
Glory pressed her palms to her eyes. "I'm sorry."
"That's not enough anymore." David's voice broke. "I'm tired, Glory. I'm so tired of forgiving things I don't even understand."
Silence swallowed them both. The only sound was the refrigerator humming like a distant storm.
Finally, David turned away, bracing his hands on the counter. "I'm going out. When I come back, you're going to tell me everything. Or we're done."
Her breath caught. "David—"
But he didn't turn around. He grabbed his keys from the bowl by the door and left without another word.
The sound of the door slamming shut rattled her bones more than any threat the blackmailer had whispered.
✦
Hours later, Glory sat curled on the living room floor, surrounded by old photos she'd pulled from the closet. Cynthia's wedding dress — the scraps of lace she'd kept hidden in a box. Old polaroids of the three of them laughing on the beach, pretending nothing could break them.
The doorbell startled her. She looked up, half-expecting David, ready to tell him everything — the boy in the garden, the envelope, the message.
But when she opened the door, it wasn't David.
It was Mr. Bello, the investigator, holding a folder thick with printed pages. Rain clung to his shoulders. He didn't smile.
"May I come in?"
She stepped aside. He sat on the couch, dropping the folder onto the coffee table like it weighed a thousand pounds.
"I traced the number," he said. "Whoever this is, they're careful. But not careful enough."
Glory's throat felt tight. "Who is it?"
Bello flipped the folder open. Surveillance photos. A blurry face in the shadows. An address written in neat block letters.
"His name's Emmanuel," Bello said. "Goes by Manny. Twenty-two. No birth records. Foster system all his life. In and out of homes."
Glory's head spun. "But… Cynthia never—"
"Didn't know him," Bello finished. "Probably not. But her father did. I dug deeper — turns out your sainted father-in-law had another child. Out of wedlock. Nobody knew. Or nobody wanted to know."
Glory pressed a hand to her chest. "So he's really…"
"Her half-brother." Bello leaned back, eyes tired. "And now he's decided you owe him something. Maybe money. Maybe revenge. Maybe both."
Glory stared at the photos. In one, Manny sat on a park bench, hunched over a phone. In another, he stood outside a bar, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. He looked young. Too young to hold so much hate.
"Does David know?" she asked, voice small.
Bello snorted. "I'm not in the marriage-fixing business, ma'am. That's on you."
She flinched at the edge in his tone. "Can you stop him?"
Bello's eyes narrowed. "Maybe. But not if you keep running off at midnight to play hero. He's watching you, Glory. Every time you move, he moves."
Glory hugged herself. "What does he want me to do?"
Bello shut the folder, his voice quiet but sharp as glass. "He wants you to suffer. Same as he did."
✦
David didn't come home that night. She sat by the window until the sky turned from black to bruised purple. She'd texted him once, then twice. No answer.
When dawn bled through the curtains, she curled up on the couch, the photos still scattered around her like the bones of an old life she couldn't bury.
She drifted in and out of sleep until her phone buzzed again. A new message.
"The truth or the grave. Pick one."
No number. No reply possible.
She stared at the words until they blurred into nothing.
She knew what she had to do. She'd lost David once — after Cynthia died. If she didn't stop this, she'd lose him again. And herself with him.
She got up, grabbed her coat, and stepped into the gray morning alone.
✦
She found David at the cemetery. She knew he'd be there — at Cynthia's grave. It was the only place he could hide where she'd still find him.
She watched him from the car for a while. He sat on the edge of the marble, tracing his fingers over the name carved in stone. From here, he looked like that boy again — the one who had once told her forever could fit inside a single promise.
When she stepped out, her heels crunched on wet gravel. He turned his head but didn't stand.
"I'm sorry," she whispered when she reached him.
David didn't look at her. "I loved her."
"I know."
"I love you." His voice cracked. "But I don't know who you are anymore."
Glory knelt beside him, mud soaking through her tights. "Then let me show you. Let me fix this."
His eyes finally met hers. So tired. So afraid. "How?"
She opened her purse, pulled out the folder Bello had given her. "It's him. Cynthia's brother. The blackmailer. The one who's tearing us apart."
David's eyes dropped to the folder. He didn't touch it. "So what do we do?"
Glory's voice was a whisper, but it didn't shake. "We fight back. Together."
For the first time in weeks, she saw something flicker behind his eyes — not hope exactly, but the memory of it. He reached for her hand. Held it tight.
And somewhere under the cold morning sky, next to a grave that still owned too much of them both, Glory made herself a promise:
If the past wanted to stay alive, she'd bury it herself — no matter what it cost.