Swallow? No, common thrush. It’s perched above me, watching me in the bushes. Its song draws attention, mocks my effort to remain apart, outside.

Hidden, is more accurate, I suppose. It wasn’t my fault. By the time I realized what I was doing it was too late. I’m sure she’ll see it that way. I mean, really, I have nothing to feel bad about. Stuff like this happens in long-term relationships. It’s not like either of us is perfect. We’ve both made mistakes. But, if that’s true, why does my stomach hurt?

Guilt. That’s why. I’m consumed with it. I have to tell her. I have to let her know what I did. She probably already knows anyway. I just have to man up, take my punishment. I’ll do it now. I’ll let her know. It was me… I ate the rest of the tiramisu.