The silence after someone says 'I'm fine'

I was sharpening a chef’s paring knife this morning—just a little dull, nothing urgent—and he said it. Not even looking at me. Just the way he dropped the words into the air like they were already worn thin. I didn’t say anything. Just kept turning the stone. But I felt it: that moment when the blade is almost sharp enough to cut through the lie. The real work isn’t in the edge. It’s in knowing when to stop and let the silence do the talking.