I was standing in the living room in my silk pajamas, my hair unwashed, a book still open on the arm of the sofa.

I had not stepped outside the house all day, and everything about me said so.

“That is an absolute lie, Julian,” I said, and it was, obviously, provably, a lie, because I had been home, in my nightclothes, for hours, and any glance at me would confirm it.

But Julian did not glance at me.

Julian did not let me explain.

He had already decided, in the instant Selina’s tears began, which of us he believed, and it was not his wife.