The brass desk clock in Julian’s study downstairs struck eleven as I folded a pair of yellow cotton baby pajamas into the wicker hamper in our second-floor bedroom.

Julian had his leather garment bag unzipped on the four-poster bed and was packing three starched dress shirts for a foundation conference in Columbus.

His leather briefcase lay open on the bench beside the closet door.

While he went into the bathroom for his leather toiletry bag, I walked quietly over to the bench.

Tucked under a stack of printed foundation agendas inside the briefcase was a folded white document stamped with the official logo of our medical insurance company.

I unfolded the top third just enough to read the bold heading: Unsigned Spousal Policy Rider.