Citrus and Secrets

Mara's fingers trembled as she reached for the iphone on her husband's nightstand—3:47 AM, the fourth time this week. The screen lit up beneath her palm, revealing nothing but notifications. Again.

The orange she'd peeled earlier sat on its own juice-stained paper towel like a dying sun, its citric scent still clinging to the room. She'd started buying them—the same brand he preferred—trying to understand him through grocery choices.

"Spying on yourself again," she whispered, the word tasting like ash.

Three weeks ago, David had started taking a new vitamin regimen—those expensive personalized ones from the startup where he'd been promoted to senior analyst. "For focus," he'd said, though he'd never lacked focus before. Now he worked late. Took calls in the garage. Deleted texts immediately.

Mara knew she was spiraling. Knew it could be innocent—a demanding project, office politics, the natural drift of twelve years together. But the way he moved his iphone to the charging station across the room when she entered. How he'd started locking his home office door.

The vitamin bottle sat on his dresser, next to his watch. She picked it up, reading the label: "Enhanced cognitive performance. Heightened alertness. Optimized decision-making."

Something shifted in her chest. Not jealousy exactly, but a hollow recognition.

She set the vitamin back and returned to bed, careful not to wake him. David's breathing remained even, innocent, or perhaps practiced.

In the kitchen at dawn, she squeezed another orange, watching its amber blood pool on her cutting board. The iphone chimed from the bedroom—a message received.

Mara didn't go check. Some truths were oranges you squeezed dry, and some were vitamins you swallowed hoping they'd fix what wasn't broken. Either way, you stopped tasting them after a while.

She took her cup to the window and watched the sun rise over the city. She would ask him tonight. Not about the phone or the vitamins, but about the version of herself she'd become—the spy in her own marriage, suspicious and small, waiting for proof of something she'd already decided to believe.