Stray

The hair on his pillow was long and dark — not mine. I'm blonde, my hair barely reaches my shoulders. This was something else entirely, a physical betrayal in the most intimate space.

I picked at it with trembling fingers, watching it catch the morning light. Outside, the city was already awake, horns and sirens floating up six floors to where my marriage had just died.

His iPhone lit up on the nightstand. Her name: 'Maya from Tech'. Three in the morning. 'Can't stop thinking about last night.'

I should wake him. Should scream. Should throw the phone against the wall like they do in movies. But my body wouldn't move. Instead, I lay there listening to his breathing — even, peaceful, utterly unburdened. While I had spent half the night staring at the ceiling, convinced something was wrong, he'd been sleeping dreamlessly beside me.

The HDMI cable snaked from the TV to where I'd tripped over it two nights ago. 'You need to be more careful,' he'd said, annoyed, as I'd massaged my bruised shin. He hadn't asked if I was okay. Just annoyed that I'd disturbed his movie.

That was the thing about betrayals — they didn't arrive as lightning strikes. They were small moments you'd already forgiven, recontextualized too late. The cancelled date. The late night at work. The way he'd stopped touching me like he used to.

I got up, packed a single bag. Left the iPhone on the nightstand. Let him explain it to her.

The elevator cable hummed as I descended, six floors of my life getting smaller and smaller behind me.