You nod slowly, letting your eyes shine as if you are fighting tears. “I need a little time.”
Aaron squeezes your fingers. “We don’t have much.”
Then he stands, kisses the top of Eli’s head, barely touches yours, and goes upstairs to shower. You sit there listening to the water run through the pipes, and for one wild instant you imagine storming upstairs, dragging him into the kitchen, throwing the recording in his face, and watching him choke on the truth. But fury is a match, and you need a furnace.
So you wait.
That night, after Aaron falls asleep, you slip from the bed and take your phone into the laundry room. Your mother answers on the second ring, voice low and alert, as if she has not really slept since you told her everything.
“Well?” she asks.
“He did it,” you whisper. “Exactly like we heard. Every word.”
There is a pause, then the steadying force of her breath. “Good. Let him keep thinking you’re blind.”
You close your eyes. “I don’t know how I was married to someone like this for seven years and never saw him clearly.”
“Honey,” your mother says, “some people don’t reveal themselves all at once. They peel open when they think they’ve already won.”
