“Morning.”
“Morning.”
He kissed my cheek.
Then he noticed the watch.
“I knew I forgot something.”
He fastened it around his wrist without checking the notifications.
I watched his face.
The same blue-gray eyes.
The same small scar beneath his chin.
The same man who had held me through my mother’s funeral and driven across three districts because I once mentioned missing a bakery that had closed.
Nothing about him looked false.
That frightened me more.
“Another late night tonight?” I asked.
He hesitated.
“Probably.”
“Factory?”
“Where else?”
The lie came gently.
Naturally.
He poured coffee.
I felt as though a wall had appeared between us while we stood only three feet apart.
After breakfast, Caleb picked up his lunch and keys.
At the door, he paused.
“Natalie?”
“Yes?”
He looked at me as though he wanted to say something.
For a second, I thought he knew I had seen the message.
Then he smiled.
“Let’s go somewhere Saturday. Just us.”
“Where?”
“I’ll think of something.”
He kissed me again and left.
I watched his truck turn at the end of the street.
The reasonable thing would have been to wait.
Ask him that evening.
Give him the opportunity to explain.
But trust behaves differently after the first crack.
Every unexplained moment suddenly rushes toward it.
The late nights.
The showers.
The sadness he refused to discuss.
The unfamiliar scent on his clothes.
The message from Lena.
She needs you.
I grabbed my coat and car keys.
At first, Caleb followed his usual route toward the factory.
I stayed several vehicles behind.
My heart pounded so hard I felt ridiculous.
What would I do if he drove through the factory gate?
Return home?
Pretend none of this had happened?
Apologize to him without admitting what I had done?
Three intersections before the industrial road, his turn signal flashed.
He drove in the opposite direction.
I followed.
The streets became narrower.
Small shops replaced warehouses.
He stopped outside a pharmacy.
Caleb went inside and returned carrying a paper bag.
Then he drove to a children’s store.
Ten minutes later, he emerged with a tiny stuffed rabbit.
It was cream-colored, with long ears and a yellow ribbon.
He held it carefully rather than dropping it into the passenger seat.
I gripped my steering wheel.
