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.

I found his old Fitbit in a drawer. It synced to my phone and showed the truth: he was never working night shifts.

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

She swore every long afternoon was spent at her mother's kitchen table. The tablet she left behind kept a quieter, more honest record.

He swore he was pulling a double shift at the hospital. A glowing little notification on the family TV told a different story.

My rescue parakeet bit everyone who came near him. So why did he fly straight to the stranger my husband brought home and start preening her hair?