Robert realized that she had made a fool of him when he opened the drawer and found her passport. Well that wasn’t quite true – until he turned the page that is. He smiled at the photograph at first. In all their thirty year marriage, Sarah never did like her picture being taken. Eyes wide open and always taken by surprise by the flash, and a smile Mona Lisa would have been proud of.
No, it was her name, or rather her surname that caused him to fall back on their double bed. The wallpaper with its dark stripes loomed over like the bars in a prison. A room straight out of a magazine with its silk bedspread and plush carpet.
Mrs Smythe, but it had to be a mistake.
She walked in, and Robert stood up, his back straight, and handed her the passport. She didn’t speak to say it was a mistake, or even argue.
‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ Sarah said.