Every day when I get home from work or from writing, E and I have the same conversation:
N: Hi, honey. Was there . . . um . . . any bad mail?
N: You didn't look me in the eyes when I asked. There was bad mail, wasn't there? Tell me if there was. I want to know.
E: No, really, there wasn't.
N: You've hidden it, haven't you? You just don't want me to cry again. That's sweet.
E: Seriously, honey, there wasn't any bad mail.
N: You're just saying that.
E: You're insane.
N: You know what? If there was bad mail today, I really don't want to know about it, so thank you for hiding it. I'll deal with it later.
E: Okay. But there wasn't.
(Some minutes pass.)
N: Honey, now tell me the truth. Was there any bad mail?