David Cummings

No questions, no unnecessary remarks.

My eyes would be my only tool.

Immediately, I started to pick up on signs I had unconsciously ignored.

Howard no longer exhaled at the door when he arrived home.

His suit and tie had remained consistently tidy, as if great pains had been taken to fix his appearance before he came home.

Then there was his hair.

It had grown to the point where it was far past time for a trip to the barber.

He knew how much I hated his hair that way.

It looked like an unorganized ball of thread.

This, combined with everything, all but confirmed my suspicions.

But I couldn't let him win.

If I accused him, he would simply deny it.

I would see right through his lies, of course.

But I wanted proof.

I wanted to see him struggle to find an explanation.

I wanted to hear him beg for my forgiveness a second time.

This was a fantasy too enticing not to make come true.

Setting the trap was easy.

Howard, ever clumsy and unobservant, believed me when I told him I was going to visit my mother for the weekend.

I thought you two didn't speak.