were arguing about her grades.
Later he said it had something to do with changing majors.
I should have noticed the story had changed.
I didn’t.
His phone often buzzed late at night.
Whenever it did, he turned the screen away.
“Spam,” he would say.
Or, “My brother.”
I never checked.
Love can make you trusting.
Guilt can make you even more so.
And I had plenty of both.
Now, twelve years later, I sat on the living room floor staring at a box from Chloe while my husband stood
