Every time my brother-in-law drove me home, I would black out and wake up sore. My husband just laughed and said I was out of shape. After the fourth trip, I hid a voice recorder in my purse — and that night I heard a phone call that made me realize the blackouts had never been accidents.

The eleventh of February this year. A Tuesday.

It came while we were in the middle of all that.

I took it out of the box in the lobby on my way in from work. I carried it up in the lift. I stood in our own hall with my coat still on.

And I handed it to my husband unopened.

And I handed it to my husband unopened.

I did it deliberately. As a gesture. I had about four seconds to decide and I decided.

I remember exactly what I said, word for word, because I was rather pleased with myself for it at the time.

I said: “I’m not even going to look at it. There. That’s what trust is.”

And he said one word.

“Pali.”

That is all. Just my name, the way he says it.

And he took it out of my hand.

And he put it in the inside pocket of his jacket, and we went and had dinner.