The Silent Witnesses

Margot watched from across the street as her husband's key turned in the lock. Again. Three times this week he'd come home for lunch, claiming migraines, but she knew better. She'd been his **spy** for fifteen years—metaphorically speaking—reading his shifts in mood, tracking his lies like field notes. But this morning, she'd taken it literally. She'd hired the private detective. Now she waited for his call, a coward in her own car.

Inside the house, she knew the routine. Buster—their ancient golden retriever—would thump his tail once, twice, then surrender to arthritis and sleep. Luna, the Siamese **cat** Margot had rescued from a shelter during their first year together, would weave between David's legs, demanding tribute. And in the hallway, the **goldfish** that their daughter Emma had won at a fair before leaving for college would continue its endless laps, oblivious to the erosion of a marriage.

The detective's number flashed on her phone.

"You're not going to believe this," he said. "He's not meeting anyone."

"Then what?"

"He sits in your backyard. Talks to himself. Sometimes cries."

Margot's throat tightened. She thought of the **water** bill—double what it should be last month. David had said it was a leak. She'd believed him, or pretended to. The truth was, she'd stopped asking questions years ago. Stopped caring enough to investigate.

"He's sick, isn't he?" she whispered.

"I can't say. But Mrs. Chen? Whatever you think he's hiding—it's not another woman."

Margot ended the call and walked toward the house she no longer recognized as home. Through the window, she saw David kneeling by the pond, hand trailing in the water, Buster resting his head on his husband's shoulder, Luna watching from the garden wall. All the witnesses to her long neglect.

She had been so busy protecting herself from betrayal that she'd forgotten to love him at all. The animals knew. They'd always known.