Not in a campsite.
Not even outside the city.
He was there, in a residential area, at the address of a small house I didn’t know. An ordinary place. Almost too ordinary.
I didn’t think. I grabbed my keys. I told the children I was going out. I got in the car, my throat tight, my thoughts a jumble.
When I arrived at the house, I turned off the engine. I watched, silent. The shutters were open. A car was parked in front. Then, after a few minutes, the door opened.
And he left.
My husband…
