I hated hotel rooms. I never slept well in them. But you had little choice when you were on a two-day cross-country road trip.

It was either stay in a hotel or stay in an Airbnb.

But you had to plan for the latter.

You couldn't just show up at some Airbnb and check in without a reservation.

Of course, I couldn't tell my wife about my hatred of hotel rooms. If I did that, I would have to explain the root of the hatred. And that was a story I had long ago decided not to tell ever again.

I had spent most of my life trying to forget that trauma.

So far, I hadn't been successful.

June had already showered and was tucked into bed,

scrolling through social media like she did pretty much every night.

It was my turn to get cleaned up. After grabbing some toiletries from one of my bags,

I headed to the bathroom.

I hated hotel bathrooms just as much as I hated hotel rooms.

It was a package deal, plenty of hate to go around. Although I needed

a shower, I was too tired to go to the trouble. It had been a long day of driving. I told myself I would shower in the morning. I didn't

want to be alone in this bathroom at night for any longer than necessary. So I decided I would just wash my face and brush my teeth before going to bed.

I turned the water on, keeping one hand under the faucet while I waited for it to warm up.

But as I glanced into the mirror, faucet while I waited for it to warm up.

But as I glanced into the mirror, I noticed that the shower curtain behind me was completely

closed.

Of course it was.

June had closed it after her shower.

Just stop it.

...