My husband sent another woman a huge bouquet of white roses and pink peonies with a card signed “Love, Daniel,” and by one careless mistake, those flowers arrived at our house instead.

floor. I repeated, “A few.” He confirmed, “Yes.” I started counting aloud, asking “Two?” then “Three?” and finally “Six?” At that, his face gave away what his voice had withheld. “Six months?” I whispered. He protested, “It didn’t start like that.” A harsh laugh escaped me. “Of course it didn’t.” He persisted: “It didn’t.” So I asked, “How did it start?” He named the Lawson account: “We were working on the Lawson account.”

I knew the Lawson account through Daniel’s complaints: prolonged meetings, late revisions, weekend calls. I’d supported him