POV: Mia
He's three minutes late.
I notice because he's never late. Every evening for two weeks, seven o'clock exactly, same sitting room, same chair across from mine. I could set a clock by it. So when 7:03 comes, and the doorway is still empty, I put down the book I'm not reading anyway, and I watch the door.
He comes in at 7:04.
And I know immediately that something is different.
It's nothing dramatic. He's dressed the same. He moves the same. But there's something in the way he closes the door behind him slower than usual, like he's deciding something on the other side of it before he comes in fully. He crosses the room and sits down in his chair, and for a long moment, he just looks at me.
Not the way he usually looks at me, that careful, measuring look that takes everything in and gives nothing back. This is different. This is direct in a way that makes me want to look away.
I don't look away.
"You had a long day," I say.
"Yes."
