Just before Christmas, I discovered my husband had lied and was actually in our city

Christmas Eve was unbearably quiet. Snow drifted past the windows as I wrapped gifts alone, old holiday movies playing for comfort. Around nine, my phone rang.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, but his voice sounded tight.

“How’s Boston? Did everything get sorted?”

“I—I can’t talk right now.”

In the background, I heard laughter, dishes clinking, music.

“A meeting?” I asked. “This late?”

“I have to go!” The line went dead.

My hands shook. Nothing added up—until I remembered my fitness tracker, left in his car days ago. Opening the app, I saw his car parked less than fifteen minutes from home… at a nearby motel.

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