I noticed immediately, the way you notice anything that breaks a pattern that old.
It started small.
I’d wake around one in the morning, roll over, and find his side of the mattress cool and empty.
By the time my alarm went off, he was always back, breathing slowly, as though he’d never left at all.
The first morning I mentioned it, he rubbed his lower back and winced convincingly.
He’d always been a decent actor when he wanted to be, something I’d found charming once, back when it only applied to surprise birthday parties.
« That guest bed is somehow easier on my spine, » he said. « First real sleep I’ve had in weeks. »
He was fifty-six.
I believed him.
Bodies do strange things as they age, I told myself.
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