At exactly 11:47 on Christmas Eve, my husband accidentally sent me a photograph of himself in a hotel bed with his mistress while I was home alone caring for our two feverish babies.

looks like.

You’re overtired.

Let’s talk when I get home.

Don’t do anything dramatic.

I stared at the last one.

Apparently, spending Christmas Eve with another woman while our babies were sick wasn’t dramatic.

Leaving was.

At 2:41, his tone changed again.

Where are you?

I checked my location settings.

Off.

Then:

Turn location on.

Now.

My heart hammered.

I realized how deeply conditioned I’d become.

Cole wasn’t nearby.

Yet a command on my screen made my body anticipate punishment.

I saved the message, forwarded it to Mr. Harris,