My sister kissed my husband in front of thirty people at her own anniversary party and called it a joke. kertati Her husband had a wrapped present in his hands and an envelope she had never opened.

She told an old story about when we were teenagers, then somehow turned it into a story about how Callan was “the husband she should have had.”

Three times.

Bram barely spoke.

On the drive home that night, I stared out the passenger window while the road lights passed across the windshield.

Finally, I said, “Why are you letting her do that?”

Callan sighed.

“Bryony.”

“No. I’m serious.”

“I know.”

“You saw her.”

“She was drunk.”

“She wasn’t that drunk.”

He tightened his hands around the steering wheel.

“I’ll have a word with her.”

I looked at him.

“Tonight?”

“Tomorrow.”

“And if she does it again?”

“She won’t.”

I wanted to believe him.

I did believe him.

That was the problem.

I leaned my head against the window.

“I just don’t understand why she keeps doing it.”

Callan was quiet for several seconds.

Then he reached across and squeezed my knee.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I know.”

He squeezed my knee again.

“Trust me.”

So I did.

That was the first mistake I made.

The next morning, the house was already awake before eight.

Someone was making coffee.

Someone was arguing about the music.

Children were running through the hallway.