Not the room.
Me.
Seven years of marriage.
Two children sleeping at my sister’s house.
A mortgage.
A life built from grocery lists, school pickups, and whispered arguments after bedtime.
His phone was still on the nightstand.
His wallet.
His wedding ring.
I hadn’t noticed that part until now.
The ring wasn’t on his hand when we went to sleep.
It had been beside his phone.
“Why would he leave without telling me?”
Ana looked down the hidden corridor.
“Because he didn’t want you to follow.”
She stepped inside.
I stayed where I was.
Then she said, “Your husband has been here before.”
