In the middle of the night, his cell phone vibrates on the nightstand. Reaching fast to pick it up, he knocks over the stack of books there. His wife, Olivia, stirs slightly. He presses the phone tight against his abdomen, carefully removing himself from the bed, and puts the books back one at a time. The phone stops. He puts his robe on and makes his way to the middle bathroom and closes the door. The vibration starts again. Past 3:00 a.m. The little window in the phone says unknown. But he knows who it is. A month ago she bought a cheap drugstore temporary one with a set number of minutes on it. Not traceable so she can call him sometimes.
This just as he had decided that he would end things.
