Arthur felt an unexpected tightness in his chest. The situation sounded almost absurd, like a scene from a poorly written romantic film, yet the pain beneath it was unmistakable. This was not desperation for attention. It was exhaustion from carrying expectations that were never hers to begin with.
After a moment, Maribel sighed deeply. “I know, I know. I should not lie. But sometimes lying feels easier than explaining your whole life to people who do not really want to listen.”
Arthur heard the call end. He took a step back just as Maribel emerged from the kitchen, her eyes red, her apron still tied around her waist. When she saw him standing there, her face drained of color.
“Mr Bellamy,” she said quickly, panic creeping into her voice. “I am so sorry. I did not mean for you to hear any of that.”
Arthur raised his hand gently, surprising both of them. “You do not need to apologize. I was passing by. I did not intend to listen.”
Maribel nodded, gripping the fabric of her apron as though it were the only thing keeping her upright. “It is nothing important. I will handle it.”