He had been sleeping in the guest room for almost a month by then.
He had also been coming home later and later, taking calls outside, turning his phone facedown whenever I entered the room, and insisting that the woman from his office whose name kept appearing on his screen was “just part of the team.”
I had spent too much time pretending not to notice things because I was terrified of what noticing them would require me to do.
That Wednesday, I drove home around four.
My key would not turn.
At first, I thought I had the wrong key.
I actually stood on the front step with Fiona beside me and tried it three times.
Then I noticed the new deadbolt.
A contractor’s cardboard box was still sitting beside the recycling bin.
I called David.
He answered after the fifth ring.
“You changed the locks?”
There was a pause.
Not surprise.
Not confusion.
Just a pause.
“I told you we needed space.”
“This is my house too.”
