My husband rang to say he was in emergency surgery all night. I was looking down through the glass walkway at him at the time, with his arm round another woman and his entire family beside him holding boarding passes. I didn’t go down. I went to a quiet corner and made one phone call.

And I decided he was a man being spiteful about a family that had cut him off.

Which he was. Both of those were true at once and I only took the first one.

Then in the February of 2024 there was a charge on our joint card for a hotel in Ardenmoor on a weekend Whit was at a conference in Ardenmoor.

He said he had booked a room for a colleague whose reservation fell through and had never been reimbursed.

That is a completely reasonable explanation and it took him about four seconds to produce it and I have thought about those four seconds a great deal since.

There were three trips before the one I watched from a walkway.

The July of 2024. The Christmas of 2024, which I was told was a men’s golf thing. And the April.

Rosa Farrow booked all three. She is a retired travel agent. She got a group rate.

And the woman is Anneke Voss, who is thirty-three and a theatre nurse at the same hospital.

She is not a villain and I have had to work at that. She was told, from the first month, that Whit and I were separated and living in the same house for financial reasons until a property settled.