That’s when I noticed his hand, clenched tightly against the sheet. At first, I thought it was just muscle tension, but then I saw he was holding something — a small, damp, crumpled piece of paper.
Carefully, I eased his fingers open, my heart pounding.
The handwriting was unmistakably his.
“Mom, open my closet for the answers. BUT DON’T TELL DAD!”
The message read like a warning.
My chest tightened.
Why wouldn’t he want Brendon to know? I smoothed the paper and leaned close to his ear.
“Okay, sweetheart. I promise I won’t,” I whispered. “I’ll find what you wanted me to see.”
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