For the first time in weeks, professionals outside Daniel’s reach were looking into the facts.

At six o’clock in the evening, I pulled my sedan into the gravel driveway of the glass mansion.

The front hall was completely silent when I stepped inside, carrying my purse on my shoulder.

The sound of Daniel’s imported Italian leather shoes on the hardwood floor echoed from the kitchen as he walked toward the stove.

Daniel stood near the counter, watching the water in the stainless steel kettle begin to simmer on the flat glass cooktop.

“There you are, my love,” Daniel said, rubbing his thumb over his gold wedding ring as he turned to face me.