I was mistaken.
The first warning arrived on a Tuesday morning while I was making breakfast.
My husband had left early, claiming he needed to meet an old business associate. I was standing beside the stove, turning two slices of bread in a pan, when my phone vibrated on the kitchen counter.
An unknown number.
Normally, I would have ignored it.
But the message contained a photograph.
I opened it.
And the entire world seemed to stop.
Robert was sitting on a brown leather couch in what looked like an expensive apartment. He wore the navy-blue sweater I had bought him for his sixty-eighth birthday. His silver hair was neatly combed, and he was smiling in a way I hadn’t seen in months.
Beside him sat a blonde woman wearing black-framed glasses and a red blouse.
She looked to be around sixty.
Her hand rested possessively on Robert’s knee.
His arm was stretched along the back of the couch behind her.
