There’s nothing on his phone so I go to the lounge, bare feet padding quietly on the thick carpet. I don’t expect to find anything, that is what I tell myself, I’m just aware of my situation. Just taking precautions.
His laptop is on the small desk against the wall, a white washed antique that isn’t supposed to be used for anything other than displaying vases of flowers, but men rarely understand these things and to him, it’s just a desk.
The browser history on the laptop is full of research articles and how-to's and I shut it off after less than half an hour, having found nothing.
When I return to the bedroom, I stand in the doorway for a few moments and smile at Paul. He isn’t attractive in his sleep, mouth gaping open and drooling, still snoring too, but he is mine. Only mine. I thought our relationship would never recover from his adultery but it has.
I fetch the glass from his bedside table and rinse it out in the bathroom. Sometimes the pills I put into his juice leave a white residue and I can’t have him seeing that.