Marcus and I had been married for five years.

“So,” I said, looking at my husband, doing the arithmetic aloud so that no one in the room could pretend to misunderstand it, “you already had a son with this woman when you stood at an altar and married me.”

Marcus could not assemble a sentence. “…Yes.”

And then Rachel, staring at him, began to come apart in a different direction.

“Wait,” she said.

“You told me she knew. You told me our marriage was just a legal arrangement — that you only married her to secure the trust fund, and that she was in on it.