He tried to replay the argument differently, what if he had stayed calm, asked questions instead of shouting? What if he had trusted her laughter instead of twisting it into guilt? Each imagined version ended the same: her eyes wide with disbelief, the sting of her saying he was crazy.
By the time he returned home, the house was silent. Lights were off except for a glow beneath the bedroom door. He didn’t go in. Instead, he sat in the living room, staring at family photos. Claire smiling. The boys mid-laughter. He touched the frame and wondered, have I destroyed this?