Till Truth Do Us Part Novels & Stories

I'm going to find out the truth. For both of us. *****

"You don't need to answer me right away. When you've decided, you can find me anytime. I won't bother you until then." He turned and practically fled the room. Watching his tense retreating figure, I suddenly smiled. I pulled out my phone and dialed that number. "Mr. Sullivan, I accept the collaboration you mentioned before." The person on the other end seemed to be struggling to control some emotion, his breathing unsteady. "Ms. Emma Shaw, this is the last time I'll address you this way. I'm looking forward to our partnership." Just as he finished speaking, hurried footsteps approached. The hospital room door was pushed open forcefully. The next second, I was pulled into a burning, powerful

"In any war, truth is the first victim. Can you not see that? Could she not see it?" "Can you deny that Tina Davis was murdered because she was testing lies that reinforced the war struggle recovering than the facts would have done?" "I am saying," the Home Secretary said, "that the disparity between truth and lies is immaterial in time of war. True or false? Right or wrong? These questions are inconsequential now. It's all down to allegiance. Are you with us or against us? Surely you of can see that." "And anyone who isn't with you?" "-- is with the guerrillas and must be removed!" said the Home Secretary.

He feels that same frustration building up in his chest again as she pushes back against him when he is just trying to protect her. But maybe she is right, maybe he has been treating her like she is made of glass when she has proven over and over that she is stronger than he thinks. His shoulders slump down and he lets out a long breath. "Okay," he says finally, "I will tell you what I know if you tell me what you know. But we both have to be completely honest. No holding anything back." She looks at his face for a long moment and then she nods, jumping into it immediately.

Chuck said, "Lend me your phone, Steph." He held out a hand, and I gave him my phone. He played the video and showed it to Valerie. Meanwhile, I was dazed. I couldn't remember the last time Chuck had called me by my nickname. After watching the video, Valerie insisted that I'd used artificial intelligence to put it together. I shrugged and asked, "Will you only admit what you've done when I bring the pastor here to give his statement?" I added, "He's been feeling guilty over accepting your bribe, so he chose to tell the truth. He's already been removed from his position."

The fight for our lives… And for the truth… Had only just begun.

Turned. Marc collapsed onto the couch—elbows on knees, head in hands, water still dripping from his hair onto the cushions. “They’re cutting me.” Damien knelt in front of him—hands on Marc’s thighs, steadying, grounding. “They won’t. Not if we fight.” “How?” Marc’s voice broke—cracked open, raw. “Everyone knows now. Photos. Audio. The chain. They’ve got everything.” Damien cupped his face—thumbs brushing wet cheeks, wiping rain and tears Marc hadn’t realized were there. “Then we stop hiding. Joint statement. Truth. We’ve been in love since college. Marriage was paper. No conflict—only love.”

Thomas studied him for a moment too long. “Well,” he said finally, “visiting can be dangerous here. People come for a weekend and end up staying for a lifetime.” Lena grinned. “Or they stay long enough to unravel everyone’s secrets.” Thomas huffed but began unpacking books. Clara leaned toward Alex. “Tell me something true,” she said softly. He regarded her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. “Are you certain you want truth?” “Yes.” He lowered his voice. “Truth rarely arrives whole. It comes in fragments. A word overheard. A face remembered. A detail that doesn’t fit.”

No calls. Just us. We ordered pizza. Sat on the floor. Like we did in Ch 40. "So," I said. "What now?" "Now we fight," he said. "With the evidence. With the truth." "And if the truth isn't enough?" "Then we start over." He pulled me to him. "Are you mad I tore it up?" "No," I said. "I'm proud of you." "Good. Because I can't do fake anymore." His phone buzzed.

"I don't know how to do this part. The part where someone's actually *in* it with me instead of useful to me." "Then don't do it the way you do everything else." I crossed the space between us, close enough now that I could see the exhaustion under his eyes, close enough that this time neither of us pretended otherwise. "Just tell me the truth. Starting now. All of it, eventually. Not tonight. But eventually." "Eventually," he repeated, like he was testing whether the word could hold weight it had never had to carry before. "Eventually," I said again. He set the glass down without drinking it, and this time when his hand found mine, there was no counter between us, no cameras, no deal keepin