A certain mountain climber scales one special mountain and one mountain only. He’s loved the hike for seven years, but one day he realizes: he’s bored. He remembers that there are bigger mountains out there. Bigger mountains and better.

The climber moves on.

How true for love.

Fabian’s thoughts were interrupted by a question. “Fabian, can I ask you something?” He rolled over to face a different form of valley and hills. Jill was on her side facing him, with nothing but her silk chemise separating the two.

“Quick, honey. You know I have to get up early tomorrow.”

“How long have we been married?” The room seemed to darken and the shadows lengthened as the question hung in the air. Fabian tried to see Jill’s expression, but her face was lost in the shadows. He answered with a smile.

“Seven years, hun.” He forced a laugh through his smile. “Why, you think I forgot?”

Jill rolled onto her back, whispering to the ceiling: “I just wanted to hear the words.”

Concern took hold of Fabian’s face. He could see Jill’s left thumb unconsciously rubbing her wedding ring, slowly tracing the perfect circle as if to reassure herself it was still there.

“Is everything okay, Jill?”

Her eyes didn’t leave the ceiling. “Everything’s okay, Fabian.”

He closed his eyes and tried slipping back into his dreams.

After seven years, you get the feel for a person. After seven years, you know when they’re lying to you. A sudden thought jolted his eyes open. After seven years, they know when you’re lying to them.

“Jill, what’s the ma—”

“You never told me how Haley’s parent-teacher conference went yesterday.”

Fabian rolled over with his back to Jill. Something was wrong with her tone, and it would be disaster for her to see his eyes right now.

It had been three months ago that Fabian and Jill were introduced to Haley’s kindergarten teacher at the beginning of school. The new hire, Claire Applegate, couldn’t even have been older than 25. Fabian had run into her again in a coffee shop after work two months ago. Recognizing each other, they talked for a minute. It had seemed innocent enough then. A minute became an hour…

“Just talked about Haley, really.” He needed to change the focus. “You’d be amazed how far ahead of the other kids she is. It’s really exciting. Apparently—”

“It’s too bad I didn’t go.”

“Didn’t miss much. Guess that’s why only one parent really has to go.”

“When I talked to Jim and Holly Barins, they said that both parents were supposed to go. Why didn’t you tell me that I was supposed to come?”

It had been a stupid, stupid idea. It had been Claire’s idea. The best parent-teacher conference she was going to have. And Fabian remembered how he had been only too eager. He had lied to his wife so he could show up alone. Now it was coming back to haunt him.

“I should have told you. It’s just, you do so much. I wanted to give you a break. Let you not worry about things for once.” Still not facing her, Fabian’s eyes cringed.

These little things adding up, this was how he was going to get caught. Claire was supposed to have called him tonight, but his cell phone had died. Fabian had told her to never call his house, but he had been freaking out about it all day.

Everything was quiet for a long second. Jill tugged on Fabian’s shoulder, prompting him to face her. He did, his eyes staring deep into hers, the eyes he had been lying next to in bed for seven years. Now all he did was lie to them.

“Fabian.” She looked deep into his eyes. “Am I doing something wrong? Something’s changed recently…I feel like I don’t measure up to the wife I should be.”

If only you knew the truth. Fabian met her gaze. “You’re a better person than I’ll ever be.”

She wasn’t satisfied. “Fabian, I try to be open and honest. I just wish you could be too.”

Stop asking so many questions, and I won’t have to lie to you. He chose his words carefully. “Jill, I swear; there’s nothing to talk or be worried about.”

She slowly nodded her head. “You’ve…made everything clear. I understand you now, Fabian.”

Fabian rolled back over to try and find dreams of parent-teacher conferences past. That one was entirely too close. But you dodged the bullet.

Jill rolled away from him to speak to the lonely dark. The shadows hide the tears. She choked out the words: “I didn’t mean to start a fight.”

“It’s okay, hun.”

She sighs into the pillow.

“I just didn’t know kindergarten teachers call on Saturday nights.”