MELISSA
This is so much harder than I thought.
My heart is pounding despite my easy smile, so worried I’m going to give the game away with some silly oversight. Like knowing the way his dog barks.
Knowing where his bathrooms are.
Knowing the names of his kids when he unavoidably points out their pictures on the mantelpiece. I ask about them as though I don’t know.
“Thomas and Matthew,” he says. “They live with their mother in Hampshire.”
“That must be hard.”
“Very,” he admits, and I see a flash of pain in his eyes. “But it’s for the best. They’re thriving. Happy.”
“They must love the dog,” I say, and that makes him smile.
“They do, yes. And he loves them.” He lifts one of the photos as though he’s looking at it now. “My ex-wife isn’t quite so fond of him.”
I don’t think it’s my p
