He'd said he was working late. He had not been working late. It was only the second time in twenty years and the reasons had seemed fine in the moment. Now, driving home, every green light felt accusatory. He rehearsed what he would say if she asked, and he hated the rehearsing. When he walked in she smiled and asked how the day had been and he gave her the short version. She didn't question it. That was worse. He went to brush his teeth and stood in the bathroom with the faucet running and could not look at his own reflection.