My wife told me over a half-eaten sandwich, the way you'd mention rain on the way. Then she explained what the dinner parties had really been for.

My husband automated his life down to the minute. One scheduled text on the wrong day told me everything he had been hiding for two years.

Marcus was forty minutes across the city at his desk. So why did my phone say our oven was warming up at two in the afternoon?

I opened our shared grocery app to order milk before the school run. What was already sitting in the cart stopped me cold in the kitchen.

He deleted the app, cleared his history, covered every track he could think of. He just forgot the one inbox we had always shared.

He thought a locked bathroom door kept his secrets safe. He forgot the one device on the counter that mirrored every word he typed.