The waitress emerged from the kitchen, her eyes meeting mine. She nodded subtly, encouragingly, as if sensing my internal conflict. Her silent support lent me courage, and I decided to stay, to face him. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing heart.

When Michael returned, his demeanor was unchanged—still that same easy smile, still those disarming eyes. He instantly noticed something was off. “Everything okay?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

I hesitated, weighing my words carefully. “I just read something interesting,” I said, keeping my tone steady. “Do you know anyone named David?”

His reaction was immediate, a flicker of surprise that he quickly masked. But it was too late; I had seen it. The mask had slipped, if only for a moment.