it.
He had apparently finished whatever meeting he had been attending and had returned to the ordinary rhythm of pretending that everything was normal.
I typed:
Fine. How about yours?
His response came quickly.
Busy, as usual. Might be late tonight.
I put my phone down.
That evening, I decided I would confront him.
Not with accusations about an affair. Not with assumptions about my sister.
I would ask one simple question.
Why had he lied to me?
When Eliam arrived home, he seemed distracted. He placed his keys on
