“The awful one you mentioned before leaving.”
“Oh, that. It was miserable.”
He walked into the kitchen.
“Did you bring my pills back?”
“They’re on the counter.”
“Thanks, love.”
He kissed my cheek as if nothing unusual had happened.
I nearly confronted him right there.
But I wanted to know where he had actually been going.
So I waited.
The next morning, Eliam left our driveway at 7:40.
Five minutes later, I followed.
I had never done anything like that before.
My hands felt uncomfortable against the steering wheel.
Part of me wanted to turn around.
Another part needed to know why my husband had spent an entire week pretending to go to work.
I stayed several cars behind him.
Eventually, we approached the intersection where he normally turned toward his office.
I watched his turn signal.
It never came on.
He continued straight.
My heart sank.
The receptionist hadn’t been mistaken.
