His own.
Claire’s.
They compared.
February: normal.
March: normal.
April: rupture.
Claire had sent: I need to talk.
David never received it.
It wasn't on his phone.
Claire showed the sent log.
David searched the trash bin, archives.
Nothing.
Then an email from David that he didn't write.
Then another.
Then five.
David:
— Mom had the tablet.
Claire:
— Could she delete what I sent?
— If the account was synced and she accessed it before I saw it, yes.
— But how did she know when?
David thought.
His personal account wasn't the only form of communication.
He used encrypted civil messaging on his phone.
Margaret didn't have access to that.
Claire:
— I wrote to you through there twice.
David:
— I didn't receive it.
Claire checked.
The messages were marked as delivered.
David opened his blocked list.
Claire appeared blocked during the period from May to September.
He had never blocked her.
— How?
Then he remembered.
In June, his phone glitched.
Margaret had helped from the United States to restore a backup because the family device account was still linked to her from years back.
David:
— It can't be.
Claire:
— What?
— She had access to the family account.
— She could manage devices.
— She blocked me?
— She might have.
David felt shame.
— I should have separated that years ago.
Claire:
— Don't do this.
— What?
— Turning this into: «I should have known.»
— I could say that too.
— No.
— Yes.
— We trusted.
— That isn't a crime.
— Using it against us is.
David looked at her.
Claire had changed.
Physically weaker.
Emotionally clearer.
— What exactly did she tell you about me?
She hesitated.
— That you were considering a divorce.
David closed his eyes.
— Never.
— That the illness reminded you of your father.
Henry had died of pancreatic cancer.
David had spent his final months caring for him.
Claire:
— She said you couldn't go through that again.
David wept.