Sleep abandoned me that night.
No matter how hard I tried, my eyes refused to close, my body restless against the sheets. Albert's phone lay back where I had returned it, innocent-looking, quiet—but it felt like a living thing between us. The password change replayed itself in my mind like a broken record.
Albert had never changed his password before.
Not once.
I stared at his sleeping face, searching for answers in the rise and fall of his chest. He slept peacefully, as though nothing had shifted, as though the ground beneath our marriage hadn't subtly cracked. His breathing was steady, unbothered, and that unsettled me more than anything else.
I turned away from him, my back to his warmth.
Why now?
The question gnawed at me. Albert wasn't careless. He wasn't secretive either—or at least, he hadn't been. Every change, no matter how small, felt deliberate. Calculated. And the silence surrounding it screamed louder than words ever could.
By morning, I was exhausted.
I lay still, pretending to sleep as the sun filtered in, casting pale lines across the room. My heart raced when Albert stirred beside me. He stretched, yawned, and rolled out of bed like it was just another day.
I watched him closely.
He seemed normal. Too normal.
He hummed softly as he brushed his teeth, moved confidently around the room, selected his clothes. Not once did he glance at his phone, and not once did he look at me with anything other than his usual affection.
That almost broke me.
While he buttoned his shirt, I sat up, gathering courage that felt heavy in my chest.
"Albert," I called softly.
He turned, smiling. "Morning, baby."
My throat tightened. "I tried to check your phone last night."
The words hung between us, fragile and dangerous.
He didn't flinch—not immediately. But I noticed it: the brief tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes flickered before settling back on me.
"And?" he asked casually, walking over to the mirror to adjust his tie.
"You changed your password."
He chuckled lightly, as though I had just commented on the weather. "Oh, that."
That.
"Yes," I said carefully. "That."
Albert sighed and faced me, his expression gentle, reassuring. "Susan, it's nothing. Company policy. We've been advised to update passwords regularly. You know how sensitive my position is."
He leaned closer and kissed my forehead. "I should have mentioned it."
I searched his eyes. "So… what's the password now?"
The pause was brief—but noticeable.
"Baby," he said calmly, "it's just work stuff. You don't need access to all that stress."
Something inside me shifted.
He hadn't answered.
"But you've never had a problem with it before," I said quietly.
"And I still don't," he replied smoothly. "Nothing has changed."
But it had.
He smiled again, picked up his phone, slid it into his pocket, and grabbed his briefcase. "I'll be working late today," he added casually. "Big client."
The words settled uncomfortably in my stomach.
"Late?" I echoed.
"Yes. Don't wait up."
He kissed my cheek, waved, and walked out.
The door closed behind him with a soft finality.
I sat there long after, staring at the empty space he left behind, my thoughts racing. His explanation made sense—too much sense. And yet, it left me with more questions than answers.
The day dragged on painfully.
I tried to work, but my concentration was broken. Every sound startled me. Every vibration from my phone made my heart leap, only to sink again when it wasn't him.
By afternoon, the restlessness became unbearable.
When Albert called to confirm he'd be working late, something inside me snapped—not loudly, not dramatically, but firmly.
"I'll bring you dinner," I blurted before I could reconsider.
There was a hesitation on the line. "That's sweet, babe, but it won't be necessary."
"I insist," I said quickly. "Just a surprise."
Another pause.
"If you really want to," he said finally. "But I might not be in my office the whole time."
"I'll manage," I replied.
After the call ended, my hands trembled.
I dressed carefully, choosing something simple, unassuming. I didn't want to look suspicious. I didn't even fully understand what I was hoping to find—or avoid.
The drive to his office felt longer than usual.
When I arrived, the building stood tall and indifferent, glowing with the dull light of routine. I took a deep breath and stepped inside.
The receptionist greeted me politely and directed me upstairs.
Albert's secretary looked up as I approached.
"Good evening, ma'am."
"Hi," I said, forcing a smile. "I'm here to see my husband."
Her smile faltered—just slightly.
"Oh," she said. "He… he's working late, but he's not in the office right now."
My heart skipped. "Not in the office?"
"Yes. He had to step out to meet a client."
Something about the way she said it felt rehearsed. Too smooth. Too ready.
"Do you know where?" I asked.
She hesitated again, then nodded. "I could get the location if you want."
For a brief moment, I almost said yes.
The word hovered at the edge of my lips.
But pride stopped me.
"No," I said quickly. "It's fine. I just wanted to surprise him. If he's with a client, I wouldn't want to interrupt."
Her relief was unmistakable.
"Of course," she said.
I turned and walked away, my steps steady though my insides churned.
Something wasn't right.
It wasn't just that Albert wasn't there. It was the uncertainty in her voice, the way her explanation felt like something she had been told to say. Like a script—not a schedule.
Outside, I sat in my car for several minutes before starting the engine.
I told myself I was overthinking.
Again.
As I drove home, I called Albert.
No answer.
I tried again.
Still nothing.
My chest tightened with each unanswered ring.
By the time I pulled into the driveway, darkness had fully settled, wrapping the house in an eerie stillness. I sat in the car, phone clenched in my hand, staring at the door.
The password.
The lies.
The absence.
None of it proved anything.
But together, they whispered a truth I wasn't ready to face.
I stepped out of the car and went inside, the silence greeting me like an accusation.
Albert still hadn't called back.
And for the first time since we married, I realized—
Trust doesn't shatter loudly.
It cracks quietly, one unanswered question at a time.