Suddenly Sarah is running a lot. She’s always run occasionally, maybe 3 to 4 times a month. But she'd not been running at all through May and early June. Now since mid June she’s been out there two or three times a week. I’ve noticed that the scheduled times of the runs often change. On occasion she has even dressed in her running gear, first thing in the morning, and worn it through the day. As if she knows that she’ll be going out running, but she doesn’t know when, and she needs to be ready to head out at any moment. One day she returned and took her leggings off in the porch. I can’t think why. I later I found a wad of tissue right there on the porch floor. Dried crusty. It was folded through the middle. Making it the size and shape of a sanitary pad. It looked like kitchen paper. But not of the brand that we have in our house. I know I’m being paranoid. I’m sure it was just a snotty hanky. But I can’t help my mind spinning. I’m intrigued. I’m frightened. I’m scared at the thought that she could be forming an illicit emotional connection with someone else. But at the same time I’m thrilled at the thought that someone else might be fucking her. My emotions are a jumbled mess. Since Katie’s “you really like talking to that man...” bombshell Sarah's behavior has been notably odd. Yoyo-ing between seeming to be madly in love with me one day and in a foul mood at me, without reason, the next. I gave her set of new panties. These are another step sexier than previous ones. I was worried that they were too risque, too soon, but she loved them. She immediately wore the sexiest pair to go out and meet one of her girlfriends on an evening. Which was followed by the best sex we’d had since the night that Karen seeming stood her up. I felt loved. Then on Father’s day (UK) she’d complained all morning that I‘d not got all of the the weekly house cleaning done yet. I finished it off that afternoon, under duress, whilst she did a workout and then got herself showered. On Fathers day! All day long she persistently found fault with me. Then at dinnertime she complained that I’d not paid her enough attention during the day and that I’d “done fuck all”. Even the k**s were dumbfounded by those accusations. Brandon defended me. ’What!? Give him a break mum! He cleaned the whole house! He’s done everything you’ve asked him to do! And it’s Father’s day!!’ Then after dinner she’d suddenly appeared in running gear. Out of the blue she was going running. She was gone for hours. She returned, to her second shower of the day, and I managed to quickly check out her clothing, on the bathroom floor, after she’d finished in there. I barely had a second to look at it before she came back and picked it all up. With her towel wrapped around her, she took it downstairs, and put it all straight into the wash. I’d only managed to sneak a quick look at her clothes. I could have been mistaken. None of it appeared to be sweaty. It was a very hot day. There was no sex for me on Father’s day. The next weekend where she wore running gear from first thing on the Saturday morning. During the morning I asked her when she was going running? She said ‘Lunchtime’. By late afternoon she’d still not been running. So I asked her again: 'When are you going running?' ‘Why the hell are you assuming that I’m going running today!?’ She snapped angrily at me. ‘Well… because you’ve written in here… in the diary.’ I pointed to the diary entry and she simmered down. I decided that it was best not to mention that she was dressed in her running gear. ‘Maybe later.’ She said. She changed out of her running gear, in the evening, after dinner time. She didn’t go out running. She was in a foul mood all evening. My paranoia hounds me. It says to me: ‘Remember what little Katie said....You really like talking to that man don’t you mummy?... She’s probably meeting him out there for fucks sake!.... Do you really believe that she met her friend Laura for a cup of Tea after she had her haircut the other day?... A cup of tea that went on all afternoon?.... She looked like sex on a stick for fucks sake!.... She was flushed red in the face after she came back….’ It's a constant dialogue in my mind. Today she’s going out running yet again. She mentions it in the morning but she seems to be fretting about whether she can find the time. I offer to make the dinner and to do whatever I can to help. I don’t want her to have an affair. But for some reason I can’t keep from doing things to help smooth the path to one for her. I suggest that she could maybe go tomorrow instead. She doesn’t respond. At lunchtime we’re sat with the k**s enjoying a family lunch. The k**s are laughing and joking. Sarah seems distant. Suddenly she rises from the table saying: ‘Where's my phone?' Scanning the room, she spots her phone and grabs it from a kitchen counter. As she sits back down she appears to quickly check something on it. Then she makes a fuss over taking a picture of the k**s. The k**s seem slightly taken aback. Surprised that she suddenly wants to take a photo of them. It seems odd to me. I put it down to paranoia and carry on eating. Sarah then spends the whole day chopping and changing her mind over going running. It’s raining on and off. She has been expecting sun. There are sunny intervals but she doesn’t choose one. Eventually she heads out at around 19:30 as I’m putting little Katie to bed. It’s raining. Later as I put Brandon to bed after 21:00 he says: ‘Dad… Where the hell has Mum got to?’ ‘Well she’s out hill running. You know what she’s like. She loves it. She’s unstoppable.’ ‘Yeah but she’s never gone this long! Where’s she running to? The flipping moon?’ ‘I’ll ask her to look in on you when she gets back. She’ll be back soon... I’m sure.’ I close the door of his room and wish him goodnight. I feel an emptiness in my chest. Of the sort that we feel when we are threatened and scared. In my head I can hear Brandon over again. With a hint of suspicion of Sarah and with puzzlement at my lack of concern: ‘Where on earth is Mum? She’s been gone ages Dad!’ I go and sit at the piano. I start to play. Just bits of melodies at first. Then an old 70s song. I play one song after another. Whatever comes into my head. I don’t know how many. I lose track of time. The house is dark when she arrives home. I stop playing and go to find her. (I heard her come though the back door into the kitchen.) She still has her ear phones in. Somehow, unintentionally, I creep up behind her. She doesn’t know that I’m there. Not until I put my hands on her hips. Then she nearly jumps out of her skin. ‘Jesus Fucking Christ!’ She’s shocked and hyperventilating. ‘I’m sorry!’ ‘Why do you fucking do that?! Give me some sign that you’re there!’ She has her hand on her heaving chest. ‘You play that fucking piano in the dark...The place is like a bloody haunted house! And you creep around in it like some sort of ghost! What have you been playing on that damn thing? Not horrible old blues songs I hope. The poor k**s probably fall sleep scared out of their wits.’ ‘Alright calm down. I just came to see you... I’m glad you’re back. You’ve been a long time.’ ‘Oh so you’re timing me now are you?!’ ‘Woah! No. I am not!’ I lie. ‘Look... I just love you.’ I’m doing my puppy dog face. I think. ‘Well back off and give me some space then!’ She pushes past me and climbs the stairs to the bathroom. I saw her fitness tracker over her shoulder, just for a second, as I startled her. It showed the outline route and the distance. Five Km. I hear Brandon’s voice in my head again. ‘She’s been gone ages Dad!’ My paranoia tells me: ‘Five Km! She probably could run that in half an hour. Check out her panties!’ I tell my paranoia that she must have stopped to watch the sunset. In bed she just wants to be held. She seems desperate for me to hold her tight. She demands to be held a lot more closely and tightly than usual. She is very clingy. As we settle to sleep she tells me: ‘I love you.’ ‘I love you too.’ ‘I love you so much! I need you to know how much I love you.’ ‘I know.’ ‘I don’t think you do...’ I hold her tight and I stay silent as I drift off to sleep. The I love yous keep on coming: ‘You’re such a kind and wonderful guy… You’re the best Dad the k**s could ever have… I love you with all my heart…’ I wonder if she might want to get it on. So I move my hand to the top of her inner thigh. She pushes it away. Then she stuffs the duvet between her legs so that I can’t get my hand near her pussy. ‘I can’t make love with you.’ ‘Ok.’ ‘I need to know it’s happening. We need to schedule it.’ ‘Really!… why?’ ‘I can’t take the risk that I get all turned on and then you can’t get a boner.’ ‘Well that's not happened for ages and I can do something about that.’ ‘You need to schedule it.’ ‘Ok...’ I'm thinking 'I’ll be damned if I’m going to schedule sex.' But I drop it and say no more. ‘Hold me closer.’ She pleads. It’s impossible to hold her any closer. I hug her more tightly. I fall alseep listening to her ongoing sweet declarations of love. Holding her really tight. ‘You’re so special to me… I’ll never stop loving you...’ In the morning I’m still holding her. She’s been in my arms all night. We’ve barely moved. When she wakes the first thing she says is: ‘I love you so much.’ Then she continues telling me that she loves me, over and over.