I let myself into our brownstone quietly, hoping to catch him off guard. The lights were off. For a second I assumed the apartment was empty.
Then I heard it. A low laugh from the bedroom. Not Michael’s alone.
I didn’t call out. I didn’t run. Something in me already understood before my mind was ready to, and I simply walked down the hallway toward the door, which had been left carelessly, arrogantly, half open.
Michael was there, under our wedding quilt, shirtless.
