A few months earlier, a coworker of mine had confessed, over lunch, that she'd secretly gone through her husband's messages.
"It was eating me alive, Dana," she'd said.
Another woman at the table nodded along. "I think everybody checks eventually."
I laughed. "I don't."
They both looked at me like I'd claimed to have never once locked my car. "Never?"
I shook my head. "We've just never needed that."
We've just never needed that.
That evening, folding laundry, I told Elliot about the conversation. He smiled without looking up from the pile of towels.
"I'd rather you ask me anything than spend a night wondering," he said.
It wasn't a grand declaration. Just another ordinary sentence, in an ordinary marriage, on an ordinary Tuesday.
Just another ordinary sentence in an ordinary marriage.
read more in next page
