At 2:00 a.m., My Husband Thought I Was Asleep While He Emptied Our Safe to Run Off With His Mistress. Before Leaving, He Kissed Me and Whispered, “Poor Audrey. You Never Saw This Coming.” Hours Later He Sent a Photo From the Airport. I Replied With Four Words That Made Him Call Me Immediately.

I thought about that when I passed the old guest room, now a plain study with a lamp and a stack of quarterly binders.

The bed Chloe had used was gone.

The story that room once held had been reduced to furniture that served a purpose.

That seemed right.

On a wet Wednesday I signed the last internal memo of the audit year and walked the long corridor to the lobby.

A new receptionist said good morning without the careful pity I used to hear in people’s voices.

I said good morning back.