Four months ago he changed passwords.
Three months ago he became secretive with his phone.
Two months ago the photographs with Rebecca appeared.
One month ago he moved into the guest room.
Then the locks.
The account.
The lawyers.
My voice became barely audible.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Another silence.
“Because somebody accessed our home network.”
I felt my heart beat once, hard.
“What?”
“I found remote login records on my office laptop.”
“You brought confidential work home?”
“I made mistakes.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Yes. I did.”
“And somebody got into it?”
“I think so.”
The room seemed different now.
The ordinary furniture.
The cheap framed print above the desk.
My suitcase on the floor.
Nothing had changed.
Yet I suddenly felt as though I were standing inside a much larger story than the one I thought I had been living.
“Was that why you changed the locks?”
