bend down.
There was a faint red mark near his collar.
Lipstick.
Jenna wore that shade.
Rosewood.
I knew because I had given it to her.
For her bridal shower.
“There’s leftover chicken,” I said.
“Perfect.”
Mark removed the container.
Then he paused.
“You okay?”
There it was.
Thirty-one years of familiarity.
He sensed something.
I forced my shoulders to relax.
“Headache.”
He looked at me for another second.
Then nodded.
“Take something.”
“I will.”
He heated his dinner.
I stood across the kitchen watching him chew.
Watching him drink water.
Watching him scroll his phone.
At one point, he smiled at something on the screen.
I knew who it was.
I could feel it.
I wanted to take the glass in my hand and throw it against the wall.
Instead I said, “I’m tired. Going to bed.”
He barely looked up.
“Night.”
I climbed the stairs.
Ten minutes later,
