I cried in my husband’s arms at the airport as he boarded what he claimed was a two-year work assignment in Zurich.

I said nothing.

I had gone to the dentist at two. Lucas had told me he was at the office tying up loose ends before his so-called international transfer.

“He left with a folder,” Grace said. “Blue. Legal size.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I was parked outside.”

The anger returned, but now it had nowhere clean to land.

“You were stalking my husband.”

“I was trying to understand what he was doing.”