Ashley turned her gaze toward the man standing silently beside Ross—the true Cyril. There was no mistaking the haunted look in his eyes, the way his shoulders hunched as if the weight of guilt was pressing down on him. His lips moved, but no words escaped.
She stared at him, searching his face—her husband's face—for some kind of denial, a sign, anything that could prove Ross wrong.
But Cyril said nothing.
He just stood there, wide-eyed and trembling, like a child caught with blood on his hands.
Ashley's chest tightened painfully.
She felt as though the air had been sucked from the room. "W-What's happening here, Cyril?" she asked, her voice cracking. Her lips trembled. Tears spilled down her cheeks before she could even try to stop them.
Cyril opened his mouth again, desperation flashing in his eyes. "Honey… I—"
