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.

arrived twenty minutes later, unshaven and red-eyed, in yesterday’s shirt without a tie. I no longer wanted to comfort him, and that absence mattered. In the living room he searched for the flowers. “Where are they?”

“Trash.” We faced each other. “So.” He echoed, “So,” and I asked, “Tell me the part you haven’t told me.” I demanded. “I told you everything.”

“No, you told me facts after I dragged them out of you one at a time.” Crossing my arms, I said, “I want to know why.”

He sat