I read the lines twice under the lamplight.

He didn’t mention the five years he’d kept his genetic diagnosis hidden in his mahogany desk drawer.

He didn’t mention the miscarriages, or the dry cleaner’s ticket, or the cash retainers paid out for Brielle.

He called it something his mother had done, as though he’d been a bystander in his own home.

I tapped his name at the top of the screen and opened his contact details.

Under his mobile number was a red line of text that said Block This Caller.