One afternoon, Michael stopped by the hardware store. The clerk recognized Sarah’s name on his credit card. “Oh, picking up for her again?” she asked casually. Michael froze, his pen hovering. “Sure,” he muttered, before hurrying out. The picture of another man running Sarah’s errands sharpened, dangerously clear.
At bedtime, Emily whispered, “He said Daddy works very hard. That’s why he helps.” Her words were tender, but to Michael, they sliced like knives. Another man talking to his daughter about him? His jaw clenched as he kissed her forehead, masking his rage behind a steady father’s smile.