Laura's heels moved across the downstairs floor.
She paused outside the study.
Long enough that I knew she was there.
I waited.
She did not knock.
Eventually, her footsteps moved toward the stairs.
A few minutes later, I heard our bedroom door close.
I stayed in the study.
Not because I was afraid of talking to her.
Because I had finally understood that talking before understanding the documents would only return me to the role I had occupied for years: calming things down before anybody had to confront what actually happened.
I slept in the guest room.
Sunday morning, I came downstairs early.
My wedding ring sat beside my keys on the kitchen counter.
Laura had brought it home.
The little circle of gold looked smaller than I remembered.
I picked it up.
Put it in my pocket.
Made coffee.
Waited.
Laura came downstairs around ten.
Sweatshirt.
Hair tied back.
No makeup.
Her birthday face gone.
We stood on opposite sides of the kitchen.
She looked at my left hand.
Then at my face.
“You're being ridiculous.”
“Maybe.”
“Everybody was joking.”
“I wasn't.”
“You always take things too seriously when you decide to be dramatic.”
I took a drink of coffee.
“Who is Daniel?”
Laura's expression barely changed.
That was answer enough.
“You know who Daniel is.”
“I know what you've told me.”
“He's helping with the expansion.”
“Forty percent.”
Now her face changed.
A pause.
Very small.
“How do you know that?”