Her fear was palpable, a tangible thing that filled the small space. She was scared of me, of the power I held, of the promise of a slow, painful death.
"I... I don't know anything," she stammered.
"I don't believe you," I said, my patience wearing thin. "You were her accomplice. You must know something. A friend, a relative, a hiding spot. Anything."
She shook her head, her eyes pleading. "I swear, I don't. She never told me anything. She was... secretive."
I could feel the frustration building, a hot, burning anger. I was so close, yet so far.
"Please," I begged, my voice cracking. "Please, Lucy. He's the father of my children. I need to find him."
She looked at me, her expression softening slightly. She saw the desperation in my eyes, the raw, unfiltered pain. She saw a woman who
