“Oh, okay. I love you. Sleep well.”
“Good night, Clare.”
He hung up before she could say anything else. He stood there, phone in hand.
Every word she had said echoed in his head. She was lying, and she had no idea that he was in their bedroom while she claimed to be sleeping.
It hit him with a force that left him breathless. It was no longer doubt. No longer intuition. It was a lie. Cold, direct, effortless.
Jack took a deep breath, put his phone away, and sat on the edge of the stairs. He ran a hand over his face. He tried to remember the last time Clare had been honest with him.
Now everything made sense. The distance, the excessive work dinners, the sudden mood changes, the strange laughs on the phone that stopped as soon as he got close. None of it had been a coincidence.
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The house felt like an empty theater. He looked around and everything carried the weight of something that once was—a place where he had built a story, but that now seemed like the stage of another life.
The worst part was that she lied without hesitation, in a calm voice, as if she were really there lying down, wrapped in the blanket. But she wasn’t, and he knew it.
As he walked silently through the living room, Jack stopped when he noticed something on the coffee table. A wristwatch—large, gold, with a blue face and a black leather strap. An extravagant model, too flashy to go unnoticed.
