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liam’s pill bottle was still beside the coffee maker 10 minutes after he kissed me goodbye and left for work. I drove it to his own office, where the receptionist said he’d been on leave all week. But then he texted that work was crazy, so the next morning I followed him right past his normal turn.
Eliam’s pill bottle was sitting beside the coffee maker.
I noticed it about ten minutes after he left.
It wasn’t unusual for him to forget something in the morning. His keys had spent one memorable Tuesday in the refrigerator because he’d been carrying groceries when his phone rang.
It wasn’t unusual for him to forget something in the morning.
That morning had been ordinary.
Shower.
Coffee.
Tie.
Laptop.
He kissed me goodbye near the front door.
“Meeting from hell at nine.”
“Have fun,” I said.
“I’d rather reorganize the garage.”
Then he left.
That morning had been ordinary.
His office was on my way to work, so I grabbed the medication and decided I’d drop it off.
I even stopped for his usual coffee.
When I reached his building, I walked to reception with the cup in one hand and his medication in the other.
“Hi. I’m Eliam’s wife. He forgot his medication. Could you let him know I’m downstairs?”
I grabbed the medication and decided I’d drop it off.
The receptionist looked at me.
“Eliam?”
I gave his department.
She checked her computer.
Then she looked confused.
“Ma’am, your husband’s been on leave for a week.”
She looked confused.
I kept smiling.
At least I think I did.
“Really?”
“Yes. He’s due back Monday.”
“Oh.”
She glanced at the pill bottle.
“Would you like me to leave a message?”
“Yes. He’s due back Monday.”
“No, that’s okay. I must’ve mixed up his schedule.”
I thanked her and walked out before my face could do something I couldn’t explain.
I sat in my car with Eliam’s coffee cooling in the cup holder.
A week.
“I must’ve mixed up his schedule.”
Every morning for a week, my husband had gotten dressed for work.
He’d packed his laptop.
Kissed me goodbye.
Left at the normal time.
He’d complained about meetings.
Every morning for a week, my husband had gotten dressed for work.
On Tuesday he’d come home and said somebody had kept talking through lunch.
Yesterday he’d said traffic from the office was terrible.
I picked up my phone.
My first impulse was to call.
Then I stopped.
My first impulse was to call.
If Eliam had been lying every day for a week, why would one question suddenly make him truthful?
So I sent a text.
“You forgot your medication.”
His reply came less than a minute later.
“Crazy morning at work. I’ll grab it later.”
I read it twice.
Eliam had been lying every day for a week.
The receptionist might have been mistaken.
Eliam wasn’t.
He had just lied to me while I was sitting outside the building where he claimed to be.
I put my phone facedown.
We’d been married eleven years.
I had never searched his messages.
The receptionist might have been mistaken.
Never checked his location.
Never asked for passwords he hadn’t volunteered.
Trust wasn’t something we’d discussed much because I’d never thought we needed to.
Now one silly pill bottle had made the entire workweek feel staged.
Trust wasn’t something we’d discussed much.
