I had heard Debra say the same thing a time or two. I shouldn’t trust Austin. I couldn’t trust Marin. I couldn’t trust Cody. I couldn’t even trust my own husband who’d been keeping his phone hidden in his pocket since we got home. Who was left to trust?

I was tired of running in circles. Hence back to the word of the day: confess.

That was all there was left to do.

As a rush of water pounded against the shower glass, I glanced in to see Oliver hidden in the steamy modern all-glass stall adjacent to the original clawfoot tub. Washing off the filth of our fight, his hands ran up and down his lithe body, his mind clearly elsewhere. He was singing what sounded like Talking Heads’ “Psycho Killer” so off-key that I could only be sure of the song based on the recognizable lyrics:

“I can't sleep, ’cause my bed’s on fire.

Don’t touch me, I'm a real live wire.”

Based on the pace of his scrubbing, he’d be another ten minutes. I knew this from years of showers, two decades of living together, knowing each other’s insides and habits as if I’d adopted them for myself. And in some ways I did.

Now was my chance to take a peek at his phone. I searched the pockets of his pants that he’d dropped beside the bed; empty. Checked his bedside table; not there. Opened his top dresser drawer; nada. I couldn’t imagine where else he’d put his phone, so I snuck into the bathroom while he rinsed his sudsy head, soap running down his muscled back, and found it tucked under his boxers on the floor. I grabbed it and scooted into the hallway, through the bedroom, onto the bed. Golden lamplight draped over my shoulders. I slipped my finger across the glass screen, putting in his password.

Incorrect password. Try again.

That couldn’t be right. I knew his passcode just like he knew mine. Did he change it? And if so, why? I tried again, same message.

So he’d indeed changed it. I tried another collection of digits, which didn’t work. I only had a couple more tries before it’d lock me out, so I tapped an old one he had used for his very first smartphone. Oliver was one to recycle old passcodes rather than memorize a new one, and my knowledge of him paid off this time.

In I went, deep-diving into his online activities.