When the lockdown hit, she begged me to stay away for her health. I did. For weeks I left groceries on her step and never crossed the threshold. I thought I was being good.

He started tracking his sleep to fix his snoring. One quiet Tuesday morning, I pressed play on the night's recording out of plain curiosity.

My phone buzzed during dinner with a payment request from a number I didn't know. The note attached to it ended my marriage in eleven words.

He always closed the laptop when I walked in. One night he forgot, and a chat channel was still glowing on the screen.

He came home from the rescue smelling of someone else's home. The kibble in the trunk was the first thing that didn't fit.

He bought a second phone so I'd never see what was on it. He forgot that a car has its own memory.