Chapter 57

Thomas sat heavily on the sleek leather sofa that faced the luminous holographic display in Alexander’s high-tech barn. The faint hum of concealed turbines and the soft glow of recessed LED strips cast angular shadows across his face. It was here, surrounded by the mechanical marvels of his friend’s workshop, that he tried—vainly—to steel himself against an unexpected confession that had rendered him utterly helpless the night before.

He’d always prided himself on being a stalwart, rugged kind of man, someone whose muscles and tenacity could weather any storm. Yet when his wife had turned to him in the dim light of their living room and simply said, “I love you,” Thomas had felt his knees go slack. He remembered the way her eyes—so warm, so earnest—had held his, and then a sudden dizziness, and then nothing but blackness. The stark truth that had never occurred to him before lay plain between his battered ribs: in the presence of his wife’s affection, he was nothing but a soft