For the first time, I wondered whether I had spent six years waiting for a man who had already made up his mind.
And whether I was simply too afraid to accept it.
The argument changed something between us.
We apologized a couple of days later, but our apologies didn’t erase what had happened. Mark said he was sorry for calling me ridiculous. I admitted that I shouldn’t have accused him of cheating without evidence.
We hugged, made dinner together, and tried to return to our usual routine.
Yet something remained unsettled.
I watched him more carefully than I wanted to.
Whenever his phone buzzed, I noticed.
Whenever he stepped outside to take a call, I wondered who was on the other end.
I hated feeling suspicious of the man I loved, but I couldn’t seem to silence the questions in my mind.
Then my birthday approached.
I was about to turn forty-four, and for once, I decided I didn’t want to spend the week waiting for Mark to do something that might disappoint me.
