The previous evening, he’d blamed heavy traffic near the office for getting home late.
Yet according to the receptionist, he hadn’t worked a single day.
My immediate instinct was to call him.
But then another thought stopped me.
If he’d been deliberately lying for days, what would make him tell the truth now?
Instead, I sent a simple message.
You forgot your medication.
His reply arrived almost immediately.
Crazy busy at work today. I’ll get it when I come home.
I stared at those words.
Maybe the receptionist had misunderstood his schedule.
Maybe there was some administrative mistake.
But that message was different.
He had just told me he was working while I sat outside an office building where he hadn’t been seen all week.
I placed my phone on the passenger seat.
For eleven years, I had trusted him.
I had never searched his phone.
