What I could see was the shape — a barrel, held vertically, the length of a hand, and a thumb over the top of it.

And folded into his palm, against the barrel, a piece of paper.

He went into our bedroom.

The door was open and I could see about a third of the room from where I was, and I watched my husband of fourteen years walk to my side of our bed and put his gloved hand flat on the duvet, and pat it twice, the way you check a chair for water.

Then he stopped.