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.

From a hotel room three time zones away, I flicked our living room lights on and off just to make him laugh. He didn't laugh. He called me screaming.

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.