The days that followed were a blur of routine and anxiety. I watched him more closely, noting every time he picked up his phone, every moment he stepped out of the room to take a call. My stomach clenched with a mix of fear and determination, knowing I had to confront this, but unsure of how or when.
One evening, as we sat silently watching television, I decided to broach the topic. « Who’s Lydia? » I asked, trying to keep my tone casual. He glanced at me, surprise flickering across his face before he masked it with a neutral expression. « Just someone from work, » he replied.
« Oh? » I pressed, holding his gaze. « You seem to meet quite often. »
He shrugged, turning his attention back to the screen. « It’s for a project, » he said, his voice steady, but I heard the slight edge of caution.
I didn’t push further, choosing to let the silence hang between us, a tacit agreement to continue this dance of half-truths and evasion.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
