A phone

He was in the rain again. Smoking a cigarette he didn't want, watching the street. She would be home soon. The phone had been there on the table. Not hidden. That was the problem. He'd seen the message notification. Just a flash. Enough. "I miss you." Not from her sister. Not from anyone who should say that. He stubbed out the cigarette and made a drink. Whisky. The flat was quiet except for the rain. They'd stopped filling the quiet some time ago. He couldn't remember when. Six months? A year? She came home with wet hair and took off her coat carefully. She did everything carefully now.