Adrian stands in my doorway holding takeout from the Thai place.
Not scotch. Not wine. Pad Thai and spring rolls in greasy paper bags that smell like garlic and desperation.
"Melissa's at book club." I step back. Let him in.
He doesn't ask how I knew what he needed. Just walks past me into the living room where Tommy's wooden train tracks sprawl across.
Adrian sets the food on the coffee table. Stare at the chaos as if he looks long enough, the logic will reveal itself. "He's asleep?"
"An hour ago. Fought it for twenty minutes because sleep is apparently optional at five." I grab plates from the kitchen. "Have you eaten yet?"
"No."
The admission comes quiet. The kind of no that means he forgot to eat. That he's been moving through his day on autopilot, mind somewhere else entirely.
