Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the blinds, painting stripes across the living room carpet. He knew the routine, had watched it unfold countless times now. The hushed tones, the frantic pacing, the nervous glances at the clock. It was almost comical.

He’d found the phone bill, of course. The numbers, the duration of the calls. He took the high road; he knew he would win.

He waited until she was settled, reading a book, before walking over. “Darling," he said calmly, "Who were you talking to earlier?”