He carried something in his hand.
He never made much noise.
Mom looked sad when he was there.
That last detail should have shifted something in me, but suspicion is a fast poison.
Once it hits your bloodstream, it turns everything it touches into evidence.
When I got back home, my wife Elena was in the kitchen with the coffee maker hissing and morning light filling the room.
She looked up and smiled in that ordinary way that people do when they have no idea the ground beneath a marriage has cracked open.
I loved that smile.
I had trusted that smile for eleven years.
And standing there with my car keys digging into my palm, I hated myself for wondering whether I had ever really known what it meant.
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