But once a heart cracks, no amount of mending can make it whole again.
I started tracking the times he left the house. Counting the nights he claimed to work late. Watching his face whenever he checked his phone. I nodded at everything he said, but the thorn lodged in my chest only drove itself deeper.
In January, he said his department was having a dinner. I drove to his office building and found him sitting alone in his car. No dinner.
In February, he said he was on a business trip. I checked his flight. His name wasn't on any manifest.
I didn't argue. Didn't make a scene. I just opened that journal every night before bed and took out the strand of hair to look at it.
Everything finally shattered in early March.
It was his birthday. I'd reserved a table at a restaurant and invited a few of his closest friends for a surprise. At five o'clock I was waiting at the restaurant when he texted that traffic was bad and he'd be late.
Five-forty. Still no sign of him.
I called. His phone was off.
I called his office. A coworker said he'd taken the afternoon off and left hours ago.