Page 34 of The Widower
I froze. The anger in his eyes only confirmed what I already knew—this man was beyond saving.
When I lowered my head, I noticed his left hand. He was holding a photograph. I couldn’t make out all the details, butfrom what little I saw, there was a child in it—and Colin was smiling. Smiling.
I squinted, trying to see it better, when his tone suddenly changed. “Lose something, Isabelle?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
I didn’t know what came over me, but I turned and walked straight toward the kitchen.
I stopped for a moment, but that image stayed in my mind. Unfortunately—or maybe fortunately—I’m a curious woman. And once that picture got stuck in my head, I knew I needed to understand why that man carried so much bitterness inside him.
Why I wanted to figure him out, I couldn’t say.
But I knew one thing for sure—I had to.At least a little.
I spent two hours in front of my computer and didn’t get very far.
I dug through everything I could find about Colin Adams, but most of it led nowhere. It’s hard to explain—every time I thought I’d found something useful, it ended up being nothing.Just surface-level summaries that made me click for more, only to find the same recycled information.
What I did learn, though, was something I hadn’t known before: Colin never met his father, and his mother died before he turned thirteen. His rise in architecture was described as “meteoric,” and by the time he was twenty-three, he was already well-known throughout the state.
But beyond that… nothing. There’s almost no information about him past age thirty-four—just a year ago, when his wife and daughter died.
The article barely mentioned the cause, and even though Helena told me a little about it when I was hired, I hadn’t managed to learn much more.
“What a sad story,” I whispered to myself.
Losing your family like that—it had to be devastating. I can’t even imagine living through something like it. The thought of losing my own daughter... that kind of pain would destroy me.
After a shower, those pieces of information kept circling in my head. I wasn’t satisfied. I wanted to understand more. But if the internet couldn’t tell me much, where else could I possibly find answers?
“I could just ask him, right?”I muttered—and then laughed quietly.
Yeah, unless I wanted to get fired on the spot, that wasn’t exactly a smart plan. Besides, I seriously doubt Colin would tell me anything. He seems to hate me, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.
As I stepped out of the bathroom, I remembered something my friend Jeffrey told me a long time ago. He’s what people like to call a computer geek, and months back he said something that was now echoing in my mind: “I can find pretty much anything online, even the stuff people try to keep buried.”
I have this little problem—I can’t let something go until I figure it out.
And understanding Colin had officially become an obsession.
What I didn’t know yet was how I was going to figure him out… or if doing so would make any difference at all.
Today I had to take Hanna to her grandfather’s house.
I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it, but he didn’t seem to mind—at least, not about that. I think I’m the real problem. My presence seems to bother him somehow. Honestly, I have no idea why.
“Sweetheart, for the love of God, don’t make a mess and behave, okay?Don’t touch anything and... oh, and don’t ask Colin any questions.”
“Colin’s the man who kept smiling at me, right?”
Just that day—and only at you.
I still don’t understand why, but whatever...
“That’s right. But he’s not really like that. I never see him smile, so... you know, fewer questions, got it, honey?”
“Okay, Mommy.”
