in six years.
There was more.
A search.
Apartments downtown.
Luxury rentals.
One-bedroom.
Six-month lease.
I sat very still.
This wasn’t an affair that existed only in hotel rooms.
Someone was planning something.
I photographed everything.
At 9:23, I heard the garage door.
Mark.
I moved quickly.
My suitcase was already hidden in the guest-room closet.
I placed the tablet exactly where I had found it and walked into the kitchen.
The door opened.
Mark entered carrying his coat over one arm.
He looked normal.
Completely normal.
“Hey,” he said.
I stared at the man I had slept beside for thirty-one years.
He had kissed our son’s wife less than ninety minutes earlier.
And he smiled at me.
“You’re home early,” I said.
He shrugged.
“Meeting ended.”
Meeting.
I almost admired the ease of it.
“How was it?”
“Boring.”
He opened the refrigerator.
“Anything for dinner?”
I watched him
