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.

of you.”

“I don’t want that for you either.”

“But that’s part of what you did.”

“I know.” Through tears I said, “You didn’t just change how I see you.” I went on: “You changed how safe I feel being certain about anything.” Daniel cried in therapy for the first time, silently covering his face. I didn’t comfort him, not from spite but because his guilt belonged to him. I no longer had to repair every hurt he felt, nor let him explain away mine.

Six months after the flowers,