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.

said, “I listened to you for eleven years.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.” I listed years of conversations in which I’d listened to his worries: “You told me Henderson was impossible. I listened. You told me the Lawson account was killing you. I listened. You told me you hated traveling. I listened.” My voice broke as I added, “You came home from sleeping with her in Chicago, and when you complained that the flight was delayed, I listened.” He lowered his head and conceded “You’re right.”

“Stop saying that like