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.

when we moved in; we’d laughed and eaten takeout among cardboard boxes. Once that room had represented what we were building. Now I wondered how many nights I’d waited there while he talked to Laura.

I asked, “Did you tell her we were unhappy?” He answered, “We’ve had problems.” I repeated, “We had problems?” He insisted, “You know we did.” I said, “I knew you were tired.” His next comment was “You were distant too.” The blame was subtle, but I could feel it approaching. “So this is my fault.”