You don't see it at first. You only notice when a hinge starts to creak at odd hours, when a door takes half a second longer to close, when daily life gains a roughness no one admits.
She was there too, sitting with her purse on her lap as if holding an invisible child.
She knew she was being deceived, not through a dramatic discovery, but through a constellation of signs too small to be proof and too large to be imagination.
Those deceived for too long learn a sad form of reading.
I saw her react and understood that reactivity is not always attack; sometimes it is late defense.
Deception is a form of war disguised as peace.
A skilled deceiver does not need a perfect lie, only managed perception.
The body usually knows before the intellect finishes the sentence.
Deception is not proven by one gesture; it is recognized by the repeated design of the same mechanism.
The deepest wound is not the lie, but the insult to perception.
Truth does not need constant defense. Lies do.
Truth breathes. Lies stand guard.
