Again, I get the sense that something’s off. “That’s sweet of you,” I tell him but before I can say everything’s fine, he gets right to the real reason he called.

“You two all right?”

“Yeah,” I say and instantly feel like shit. The single word is a vicious lie on my lips. I question what I should tell him: I don’t know if my marriage to his son will last? That I’m falling apart and I have no idea how to make this better? That his son is a liar and I hate him for the pain he’s putting me through?

“I spoke to Evan and he said he’s not sure about the holidays coming up,” Henry tells me and his tone reflects that he’s baiting me. Henry’s kind, polite, keeps to himself and doesn’t want to be a bother, but he has a way of getting the truth out of people. Evan certainly inherited his charm from his father.

The screen of my laptop dims, ridding the room of any light so I hit the space bar and bring it back to life.

“It’s a bit away, but,” I say then pause and swallow, not knowing how to articulate the onslaught of thoughts. They all crowd themselves into a jam at the back of my throat, refusing to come out. I don’t have family, so it’s not as if I can use them as an excuse. “Work may be a little much.” I finally say the words and breathe out slowly, giving him a lie I’m sure he knows is exactly that.

“He said you’re going through something.” There’s no bullshit in his voice as he adds, “That you two aren’t doing the best.”

A pricking numbness dances across my hands as I ask weakly, “Did he?” Staring blankly ahead, the rhetorical question is like a knife in my back. It’s a betrayal. That’s how I feel hearing that Evan’s told his father what we’re going through. It makes the crack in my heart that much wider.

We aren’t doing the best. I hear it over and over and each time the knife stabs deeper.

It’s not fair that he invites so much attention. I don’t need the judgment, because I don’t want their opinions. I don’t want them to know we’re flawed. I just want us whole again. I wish no one knew so I could silently be the weak wife I am. The one willing to turn a blind eye for the unfaithful man she loves more than herself.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Henry,” I say bluntly as my eyes close at the confession. I can tell the computer has gone into sleep mode again and this time I don’t hit the keys to bring it back to life. The darkness is too comforting.