He swore he slept through the whole afternoon. His fitness tracker told a different story, minute by minute, while I made us dinner downstairs.

The reflection in the TV screen showed a woman tying her shoes at the foot of his bed.

She came over to surprise him. The girl in his bed was the easy part to understand. The locked door down the hall was the part that broke her.

Cash kept vanishing from the kitchen drawer, so I hid a camera in the playroom to catch the babysitter. The footage answered a question I never thought to ask.

I surfaced from sleep to a rhythm I didn't recognize in my own bedroom. When I opened my eyes, the woman I loved was already mid-betrayal.

She pointed at a pub by the train station and asked one small, strange question. Weeks later I understood why it had snagged in my mind like a splinter.