Unaccounted

With each day came new secrets and I was beginning to feel burdened by their weight.

There was so much I did not know. He’d left me to decode his secrets without a key. His laptop sat in a box, tucked in the closet, nestled amongst my winter coats. His phone, locked, was rendered useless.

I’d shared all my passwords with him, but the transparency was not returned—to be fair, I’d never asked. My devices were fair game, and I’d often lend them to him. Meanwhile he’d keep his phone screen-side down any time I was in the room. The screen would cast a glow against his face as he’d browse at such close range just so that I couldn’t catch a glimpse of whatever he was viewing. I’d clocked the behavior many times, he’d always been this way. I’d rationalize with myself that it was nothing more than a man who valued privacy—that if I ever inquired he’d share with me whatever I’d requested. Perhaps I was in denial. Maybe I did not want to face the road that lay ahead when he’d inevitably deny my inquiry—produce excuses, deflect with all his might.

I had no path forward when it came to discovering hidden information—the barrier of modern technology too strong for me to penetrate. What apps he’d been on, who he was talking to, and the avenues of his seemingly steady cash flow remained an enigma. His several subscriptions to VPN services suddenly carried more weight. I could feel something big just out of reach.