In the living room, the TV was on—bright colors, canned laughter. Marcus sat in his chair, angled slightly away, like he’d been listening more than watching. He turned when he heard the door. “Julie,” he said, too steady. “You’re home early.” Julie didn’t answer the small talk. She stood in the doorway, breathing hard, eyes locked on him.
“Who was she?” she asked. Marcus blinked. “Who?” “The woman,” Julie said, voice tight. “The one who was just here.” Marcus’s hands tightened on the armrests. “There wasn’t a woman here.” Julie took a step forward. “Don’t.” “Julie, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marcus said, and his tone was calm in a way that felt rehearsed.