Chương 6
“I don’t know.”
The answer came quietly.
And for a moment, I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Because I knew that feeling.
The feeling of standing in a place where the old rules no longer applied.
The difference was that I had not created the situation.
He had.
We walked toward his office.
The door was half open.
Inside, everything looked untouched.
A chair pushed slightly away from the desk.
A stack of papers beside the printer.
A coffee mug with his company logo sitting near the window.
Normal.
That was the strangest part.
Life did not always look destroyed when something was destroyed.
Francis stepped inside and stopped.
His eyes moved across the room slowly.
“You really emptied everything.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The question was softer this time.
I did not answer immediately.
Because the honest answer was complicated.
Because I needed distance.
Because staying there made me feel like I was waiting for him to come home and explain.
Because every object had become connected to a version of myself I no longer recognized.
“I needed somewhere that felt like mine.”
Francis looked at me.
“This was yours.”
I looked around the office.
“No.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“This was yours.”
The words surprised him.
Maybe because he had never considered that.
Maybe because he thought sharing a home meant sharing ownership of every emotional space inside it.
“You could have used this room.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
He looked down.
For once, he did not argue.
He packed his laptop into a bag.
Then he opened the bottom drawer of his desk.
I saw the change in his face.
A small one.
But enough.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I took one step closer.
“What’s in there?”
He closed the drawer.
“Nothing important.”
The answer was immediate.
Too immediate.
Daniel noticed too.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
Daniel gave him a look.
“You’re not very good at making things sound like nothing.”
Francis ignored him.
“I’m taking my laptop.”
“Fine.”
He picked up the bag.
Then stopped.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
I looked at him.
The sentence was familiar.
I had heard versions of it before.
I didn’t mean to hurt you.
I didn’t mean to lie.
I didn’t mean for things to get complicated.
But intention was becoming a word I no longer trusted.
“Things happen because people do things.”
He swallowed.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
His expression tightened.
“Yes.”
“Then stop telling me what you meant.”
The room went quiet.
“Tell me what you did.”
He looked away.
That was the moment I realized something painful.
There was a version of the truth Francis was willing to admit.
And there was a version he was still protecting.
I just did not know why yet.
When we left the house, he did not ask to come with us.
That was almost worse.
A small part of me had expected anger.
A fight.
Something obvious.
Instead, he stood in the driveway holding his laptop bag while Daniel unlocked the car.
The world kept moving.
A delivery driver walked past.
A dog barked behind a fence.
Someone nearby was mowing their lawn.
I hated how ordinary everything looked.
On the drive back, Daniel kept both hands on the steering wheel.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“You always say that.”
“I know.”
“You know it’s not convincing, right?”
I looked out the window.
“I’m working on it.”
That seemed to satisfy him.
A few minutes passed.
Then he said, “I owe you an apology.”
I turned toward him.
“For what?”
“For not pushing harder.”
I frowned.
“Daniel.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“I saw things.”
My chest tightened.
“What things?”
“The way he talked to you.”
I looked down.
“Everyone thought we were fine.”
“I didn’t.”
“You never liked him.”
“That’s not the same.”
He paused.
“I didn’t dislike him because he was perfect.”
“Then why?”
“Because every time something was about you, he somehow made it about him.”
I stared at the passing buildings.
That sentence landed differently.
Because it was true in ways I had not wanted to notice.
When I was sick, he talked about how stressful it was for him.
When I was scared about the pregnancy, he talked about how much pressure he was under.
When I asked questions, he explained why my questions were difficult.
Everything eventually returned to him.
I had mistaken confidence for stability.
They were not the same.
That evening, I opened the drawer beside the bed in my apartment and found the folder where I kept everything.
Bank statements.
Messages.
Notes.
Copies of documents Claire asked me to save.
Evidence.
That word still felt strange.
Like I was preparing for a battle instead of accepting the end of a marriage.
My phone buzzed.
A message from an unknown number appeared.
I stared at it for several seconds before opening it.
I’m sorry you found out this way.
The number was not saved.
But I knew.
My hands went cold.
The woman.
I read the message again.
Then another appeared.
I never wanted to hurt you.
I almost put the phone down.
Almost.
But something stopped me.
Because there was a difference between hearing a confession and hearing someone’s version of events.
I typed nothing.
A third message came.
He told me you knew the marriage was over.
I stared at the screen.
The room seemed to get smaller.
Not because of what she said.
Because of what it revealed.
Francis had not just cheated.
He had created a story where he was already leaving.
Where he was not betraying his wife.
Where he was simply moving toward something that had already ended.
I saved the messages.
Then I called Claire.
She answered immediately.
“Tell me.”
I swallowed.
“She contacted me.”
A pause.
“Who?”
“The woman.”
Another pause.
Longer.
“What did she say?”
I looked at the screen.
“She said Francis told her we were already done.”
Claire exhaled slowly.
“Okay.”
May you like
I closed my eyes.
“Why does everyone say okay when nothing is okay?”
