Clues

The sharp smell of disinfectant filled the hospital room. I lay in bed, my right shoulder heavily bandaged, a dull ache pulsing beneath. The doctor had just finished changing the dressing and was quietly leaving. The door opened softly. Devon entered, his black coat carrying the chill of the night. He came to my bedside, his green eyes shadowed with worry. “How’s the pain?” “It’s manageable,” I said softly. “Devon, I didn’t kill Catherine. You have to believe me.” He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand gently brushing my hair. “I’ve never doubted you. Without evidence, no accusation holds weight.” He paused, his gaze searching. “But tell me—why were you at the Red Rose Hotel? How did you find out about Jeff and Catherine?” “It was Genna,” I began, recalling the day’s events. “She told me that while you were at the border, Jeff slipped into Catherine’s room every night and didn’t leave until morning. I confronted him. He confessed that the child was his . . . and that Catherine had gi