I told her she was misplacing things because the pregnancy was making her forgetful and jumpy.

Tiffany had been staying in our guest room that very week, saying she needed to help me sort out my home calendar while I was working late at the terminal.

I stared down at Tiffany smiling in the photo, her right hand raised a little, resting right next to that silver leaf clasp.

She hadn’t just run my office or cleaned up my tax records.

She’d walked past my sleeping wife in my own house, taken what wasn’t hers, and hung it around her own neck for a party picture.