It was simpler.
You can love someone deeply and still stop knowing them if both of you keep choosing easier conversations.
I had stopped asking because his answers hurt.
Adrian had stopped explaining because silence felt safer.
Three years later, I opened one wrong door and saw wigs, dresses, shoes, a camera, and a measuring tape.
For several minutes, I thought I had discovered evidence that my husband had betrayed our marriage.
In a way, I had.
Just not in the way I expected.
He had built a beautiful part of his life and left me standing outside it.
And the thing that saved us was not discovering that Adrian was doing good.
It was Adrian finally understanding that doing good for everyone else did not excuse making the woman he loved wait alone in the dark.
That night, as we finished dessert, his phone buzzed once more.
He looked at it.
Then at me.
“Tomorrow.”
I smiled.
“Tomorrow.”
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