“Of course.”
That night, I did not sleep beside him. Not really. I lay there with my eyes closed, listening to the slight irregularity in his breathing. He was awake too. For the first time in our marriage, both of us were pretending to sleep at the same time.
In the morning, I made coffee.
Two mugs. Same brand. Same routine. Sunlight filtered through the kitchen blinds and made narrow pale stripes across the table. Down the street, someone started a lawn mower too early for the season. The refrigerator hummed. Everything looked ordinary.
Daniel sat across from me like a man waiting for a verdict.
“You’re up early,” I said, sliding his mug toward him.
“Couldn’t sleep.”
At least that was honest.
I wrapped both hands around my cup and watched steam rise between us.
“We should talk.”
His eyes lifted immediately.
The fear there was no longer hidden.
“About what?”
“Yesterday.”
He did not move.
“I saw you,” I said.
No anger.
No accusation.
Just the truth placed gently on the table.
His face did not collapse. That surprised me. There was no theatrical denial, no instant outrage, no What are you talking about? Instead, something inside him seemed to confirm what it already knew.
“Where?”
“The hotel.”
He looked down at his hands.
