At about 1 a.m., Jeff called. “Hey, sweetie. I’m headed home now.”
“Wow,” I said. “You worked late.”
“I know. Nights like this, I wish you had your own place.”
“I bet you do.”
“Then I could come cuddle with you.”
“Oh. And then you could call your wife and tell her you’ll be late?”
Did I say that out loud?
“Anaya, what’s wrong with you?” Jeff asked.
Guess I did.
“Nothing,” I lied.
“No, there’s definitely something going on with you. Please talk to me.”
I’m tired of hiding, weary of lying, and fed-up with pretending.
“I don’t have anything to say, Jeff. Really. It’s been a long day for both of us. Let’s just get some rest and talk tomorrow.”
“Anaya?”
“Yes?”
“I do love you, you know,” he said.
“Okay. Talk to you tomorrow,” I said wearily.
I knew my response was cold. But I di
