I sat in my car with Eliam’s coffee cooling in the cup holder.
A week.
“I must’ve mixed up his schedule.”
Every morning for a week, my husband had gotten dressed for work.
He’d packed his laptop.
Kissed me goodbye.
Left at the normal time.
He’d complained about meetings.
Every morning for a week, my husband had gotten dressed for work.
On Tuesday he’d come home and said somebody had kept talking through lunch.
Yesterday he’d said traffic from the office was terrible.
I picked up my phone.
My first impulse was to call.
Then I stopped.
My first impulse was to call.
If Eliam had been lying every day for a week, why would one question suddenly make him truthful?
So I sent a text.
“You forgot your medication.”
His reply came less than a minute later.
“Crazy morning at work. I’ll grab it later.”
I read it twice.
Eliam had been lying every day for a week.
The receptionist might have been mistaken.
Eliam wasn’t.
He had just lied to me while I was sitting outside the building where he claimed to be.
I put my phone facedown.
We’d been married eleven years.
I had never searched his messages.
The receptionist might have been mistaken.
Never checked his location.
