Late meetings followed by immediate showers.
A second phone containing allegedly confidential client information.
Unexplained password changes.
Extended business trips.
Private Sunday calls on the balcony in February.
A SoHo restaurant receipt from a night he’d claimed to be eating alone at work.
Every question made me feel foolish.
“Do you hear yourself, Lauren?”
“You’re exhausted.”
“You’ve become paranoid since the babies.”
“Not everything is about you.”
Sometimes he laughed.
That was worse than anger.
Anger at least acknowledged my existence.
His laughter made me feel insignificant.
Outside, snow-covered Manhattan
