She sat in his study every Sunday for the next fourteen months.
She never touched a drawer. She never opened a file. She did not need to — that was the thing she had understood on the fourth night, working it out on the back of the burned envelope. A man does not keep his secrets in a drawer in a house where his wife is. He keeps them in his phone, in his diary, and in his mouth, and all three of those are in the room with you if you are quiet and holding a book.
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