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.

the Christmas tree.

An idea formed.

I told myself it wasn’t revenge.

Perhaps it was simply the first sentence I’d written for myself in years.

I opened the Tiffany box, removed Sierra’s necklace, and placed it with the receipt inside an evidence envelope.

After photographing both, I put the empty box beneath the Christmas tree.

Then I removed my wedding ring.

My hand looked strangely young without it.

I put the ring inside the box.

Taking one of Cole’s thick white thank-you cards, I considered everything I wanted to say.