I Hit Play On A Voice Note Meant For Someone Else. My Wife's Voice Said, "He's Sweet, But…

Описание: I Hit Play On A Voice Note Meant For Someone Else. My Wife's Voice Said, "He's Sweet, But…
The tablet felt heavier in my hands after that, like it had gained gravity. I set it down slowly, as if any sudden movement might make the words rearrange themselves into something less final. They didn’t.

The coffeemaker clicked and hissed, announcing it was done. I realized I’d been holding my breath and let it out in a thin, shaky line. Forty-four years old, and this was how I found out—barefoot on cold tile, oil-stained screwdriver on the counter, listening to my wife tell another man he was the one she wanted.

I scrolled once more, not because I needed proof, but because part of me still hoped for a miracle. A punchline. A reveal that this was some grotesque misunderstanding.

There wasn’t.

What there was instead were logistics. Addresses. “Same place as last time.” A hotel name I didn’t recognize at first, until I realized it was the one just off the expressway, the one with the faded sign I passed whenever I picked up parts from my supplier.

Fixing things for a living teaches you patterns. Causes and effects. Loose wires don’t fix themselves. Corruption spreads from one bad sector until the whole drive fails.

Behind me, the hallway creaked.

I locked the tablet and set it exactly where I’d found it. Same angle. Same glow dimming to sleep. I poured myself a cup of coffee I no longer wanted and leaned against the counter as Clare padded in, wrapped in her robe, hair messy, eyes tired.

“You’re up late,” she said, voice neutral. Familiar.

“Coffee machine was acting up,” I replied. My voice sounded steady. That surprised me.

She glanced at the counter, at the tablet, then away again. “Did you fix it?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It was just a loose connection.”

She nodded, accepting that easily. Too easily.

Clare reached for a mug, yawning. “I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow. Morrison campaign. Big push.”

Tuesday.

I watched her pour coffee from the same machine that had just betrayed me by continuing to work like nothing was wrong.

“That so?” I said.

She smiled faintly. “Yeah. Long day.”

I took a sip of my coffee. It tasted burnt.

“Clare,” I said, not raising my voice, not lowering it either. “How long have you been lying to me?”

The mug froze halfway to her lips.


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