Page 103 of Secret Paths

“Absolutely not,” Mrs Higgins says. “We discussed portion control.”

Bernard looks betrayed.

“He has never discussed portion control in his life,” I say.

“He was present.”

“Presence is not consent.”

“Very true.”

Mrs Higgins tucks the tin away and begins the elaborate process of convincing Bernard that the constitutional right to sunshine does not override the need to go home before dark.

“Come on, darling,” she says. “We cannot live here. The council would object.”

Bernard does not move.

Mrs Higgins reaches into her pocket again.

Bernard stands immediately.

“Shameless,” I say.

“Effective,” Mrs Higgins replies.

They leave slowly, Bernard trotting with sudden purpose for a dog who had been close to announcing his final wishes two minutes earlier. Mrs Higgins lifts a hand without looking back.

I stay on the bench.

The path is empty now. Quiet again.

I think about Karim.

Only the lesson he left behind.

A relationship can be real and still belong to the wrong version of your life.

That is the thing I have not said out loud. Not to Peter. Not to Alexandra. Possibly not even to myself.

With Karim, it was not that love vanished. It was that ordinary life asked questions our marriage could not answer. What are we without the urgency? What are we when nobody needs us at midnight? What are we when the day is quiet and all that is left is us?

Peter is different.

That is what scares me.

With Karim, the ordinary exposed the cracks.

With Peter, the ordinary is where I keep forgetting to be careful.

Sex with him is easy to put in a box. It has heat, rules, locked doors, texts I delete and jokes that make everything feel less dangerous. I understand that version of us.

But Peter cooking in my kitchen is not in the box.

Peter knowing which drawer holds the knives is not in the box.

Peter falling asleep beside me without asking for anything is so far outside the box that pretending otherwise is becoming insulting to both of us.

I stand too quickly.