Mój mąż zawsze zostaje u swojej matki po kłótni – pojechałam o 2 w nocy, żeby go przeprosić, ale to, co zobaczyłam przez okno, sprawiło, że poczułam ucisk w żołądku

“That’s convenient, isn’t it?”

His hand closed around the keys.

“Good night, Rachel.”

The door shut behind him.

For a while, I just stood there.

Then I picked up his coffee mug and washed it.

“Good night, Rachel.”

It was already clean.

I washed it anyway.

By one-thirty, I had typed and deleted six messages.

“I’m sorry.”

“Please come home.”

That last one made me stop. I didn’t want fear to turn my apology into begging.

“Please come home.”

So I pulled on a coat, grabbed my keys, and drove across town.

***

Tarryn still lived in the house she’d shared with Ben’s father. Years after both women were widowed, her best friend Marcia moved in.

Ben called them a marriage without paperwork.

Marcia once threw a napkin at him for saying it.

When I pulled into the street, Ben’s car sat in Tarryn’s driveway exactly where it always did.

I pulled on a coat.

Relief hit me.

He was there.

I could fix this.

I walked up the path with the spare key Tarryn had given us years before.

Then I noticed a faint light from the bay window.

The curtains weren’t fully closed.

I could fix this.

I saw Ben before I could look away.

He was sitting on the floor.

Tarryn was facing him.