“Pancakes? On a Tuesday? What’s the occasion?”
The occasion was that my sister was watching my husband on a plane while my husband stood in my kitchen. And one of those realities had to be false.
“Can’t a wife make pancakes for her husband without needing a reason?” I said.
He smiled—the half smile that used to make my heart skip. “Of course. Though you know I have squash at eleven.”
As I measured flour into a bowl, I thought about the small inconsistencies I’d dismissed over the past few months. The night he came home from a client dinner smelling like perfume I didn’t recognize. The weekend he’d gone to Boston for a conference I later couldn’t find any record of online. The way he’d been perfect lately—too perfect.
“I love you,” Aiden said suddenly, leaning in to kiss my forehead.
“I love you too,” I replied automatically, the words hollow.
He returned to his newspaper. I watched him turn the pages with precise, careful movements. Each gesture looked exactly as memory promised—except I was learning memory could be manufactured.
I picked up my phone and typed a message to Kaye. Don’t let that plane take off.
Even as I hit send, I knew it was already too late.
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