Ethan closed the tablet, staring at his own reflection in the dark screen, fists clenched until his knuckles turned white.
The next morning, he acted as though nothing had happened. He brought flowers, kissed Clare’s cheek, and pretended he was unaware of everything he had seen.
He kneaded her guard down. When Ruth came to clear the table, Ethan caught her sleeve gently. “Mom, are you happy here?” She hesitated, then nodded too quickly. “You worry too much.” But her voice cracked on the word much. That night, he couldn’t stand still. He walked the terrace, watching city lights blink across the skyline.
Behind him, the apartment was quiet. Too quiet. He opened the footage again. Ruth carrying laundry twice her size. Clare shouting something about doing it right. A slap of fabric hitting tile. Laughter. He pressed pause. His jaw flexed. Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow it ends. He called his assistant and arranged a dinner for the following night.