In January, he said his department was having a dinner. I drove to his office building and found him sitting alone in his car. No dinner.
In February, he said he was on a business trip. I checked his flight. His name wasn't on any manifest.
I didn't argue. Didn't make a scene. I just opened that journal every night before bed and took out the strand of hair to look at it.
Everything finally shattered in early March.
It was his birthday. I'd reserved a table at a restaurant and invited a few of his closest friends for a surprise. At five o'clock I was waiting at the restaurant when he texted that traffic was bad and he'd be late.
Five-forty. Still no sign of him.
I called. His phone was off.
I called his office. A coworker said he'd taken the afternoon off and left hours ago.
I sat in that restaurant until eight, then packed up an entire table of food and brought it home. When I walked through the door, he'd just gotten out of the shower, hair still dripping.
"Where were you this afternoon?"
"Working late."
I stared at him, and then I laughed. Something about that laugh must have been unsettling, because he flinched. "What's wrong?"
"Clay, did you know that when someone lies, their eyes wander?"
He said nothing.
Silence.
"Fine. Don't want to talk? Forget it." I walked into the bedroom and shut the door.
He followed me in, grabbing my arm. "Juliana's in the hospital. I went to see her. She had an appendectomy. She's all alone in Graystone City with no one to take care of her. What was I supposed to do, just ignore that?"
I turned to look at him.
"Your birthday comes every year. She's only having this surgery once."
He said it like it was the most reasonable thing in the world.
All at once, I didn't want to fight anymore. I was tired. So goddamn tired.
"Okay." I nodded. "Go take care of her. You should."
He hadn't expected me to say that. He just stood there, frozen.
That night I slept like the dead. No dreams.
The thing that truly killed whatever was left in me came in April.
I'd been having stomach pains for a while. I didn't think much of it—figured it was just a bad stomach.
The morning of April tenth, the pain bent me double. Clay was still asleep.
I shook him awake. Told him I needed to go to the hospital.
He glanced at his phone. "I've got a meeting this morning. Can you take an Uber? I'll come find you after it's done."
I said okay.