He hadn’t been lying about that part.
But something felt wrong. Dave hummed while making coffee, kissed my forehead like always, and asked about my plans for the day. Everything looked normal.
But something kept tugging at me from the inside.
“Sleep okay?” I asked, watching his face.
“Like a baby.” He smiled. “You?”
“Fine.” I took a sip of my coffee, but it tasted like nothing. Just bitter.
“I still don’t get why you’d get up at three in the morning to take out the trash.”
His hand stilled on his mug handle for just a second. Then he shrugged, laughing. “It was full.
Figured I’d get it out before the truck came. Did I commit a crime?!”
That night, I lay in bed pretending to watch Netflix on my tablet, volume low. I’d catch him this time.
But exhaustion won, and I woke at dawn to find the trash gone again and Dave already in the shower.
“You’re up early,” he said, toweling his hair.
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