It was done. I went back inside, washed my hands twice with hot water, and lay awake until dawn.

The app on my phone was a nightmare. I checked it constantly. For the first week, nothing happened.

He went to work, he came home. He went to Meijer to get milk. He came home.

Then Tuesday came.

At 5:00 PM, his car left the shop. But he didn’t head north toward Parma. The little red dot on my screen started moving south on I-71. I watched it crawl down the state highway, past Medina, past Mansfield. It finally stopped in a tiny township called Millbrook.

He stayed there for exactly three hours. The dot didn’t move. Then, at 8:30 PM, the car started moving again, heading back north. He walked through our front door at 10:45 PM, kissing my cheek and complaining about the traffic on the bridge.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. My jaw was locked so tight my teeth ached.

On Thursday, it happened again. Same route. Same stop in Millbrook. Same three hours.

For three weeks, I watched that red dot. Every Tuesday and Thursday. It was like a clock. I didn’t sleep. I lost five pounds. My coworkers asked if I was coming down with something because I looked grey. I told them it was just the winter weather.

On a Wednesday morning, I decided I couldn’t live in the dark anymore. Mark had left for work as usual. I called in sick to my office. It was the first time in seven years I had ever used a sick day.

I got into my own car. The silver keychain with the engraved tag was gone from Mark’s keys, but I had my own set.

I drove south on I-71. The sky was overcast, typical Ohio grey slush on the shoulders of the road. My hands were gripped so tightly on the steering wheel my knuckles were white.

It took me an hour and forty minutes to reach Millbrook. It was a quiet, rural place. Houses were set far back from the road behind old oak trees. The app guided me to a gravel lane.

At the end of the lane stood a neat white house with blue shutters. There was a red wagon in the front yard. A plastic slide sat near the porch.