She remembered another evening from weeks earlier. He had come home late, distracted, phone still in his hand. When she asked about dinner, he murmured an apology and stepped into the bedroom, closing the door behind him, voice already lowered before the call even connected.
She hadn’t meant to listen, but the walls were thin. She heard someone talking to him. Then his reply, strained. “She can’t know yet,” he said quietly. The phrase lodged itself in her chest, heavy with implication, sealing something she hadn’t wanted to believe but could not dismiss.