I waited impatiently for my computer to shut down. It’d been a long day of meetings and Brenda called several times.
I reached down to press the power. I heard a ding and looked up to see a message.
‘It’s a poor sort of memory that only works backwards.’
Alice? I clicked.
‘Always speak the truth, think before you speak, and write it down afterwards.’
I clicked again.
Being Friday, the office was a ghost town. Who? We were so careful.
Brenda stood furiously, hands on hips, a stack of papers with a blue corner tucked under her arm. The jig was up.
“How long have you known?” I asked my wife of twenty years.
Her icy voice was controlled. “Does it matter? I’m not arguing with you, Dean.”
With a mix of guilt and relief, I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Where do I sign?”
Photo by ryochiji