And the trash bag was gone.

When he came upstairs, I was already in bed pretending to read.

He kissed my forehead.

Said goodnight.

Then fell asleep beside me as though nothing unusual had happened.

I barely slept.

I wish I could say twenty-nine years of trust made me calm and rational.

It didn’t.

My mind immediately went somewhere terrible.

An affair.

What else was I supposed to think?

My husband suddenly had a reason to leave the house at exactly the same time every night.

He was lying about where he went.

He was disappearing into a dark alley and returning without the bag he had supposedly taken outside.

By Thursday, I needed answers.

At nine thirty, Robert stood and grabbed the garbage again.

I waited until the back door shut.

Then I counted to thirty, put on my shoes and coat, and slipped out through the front door.