They have manicures, and good coats, and forty years of shared Christmases, and a laugh you have loved since you were seventeen.

That is what makes them predators.

The camouflage is the weapon.

I have spent a great deal of the time since trying to understand how I could have been so completely deceived — I, a man who prides himself on reading a patient in seconds, on catching the small inconsistency that reveals what someone is hiding — and I have arrived at an answer that I find more unsettling than reassuring.

I was not deceived because I was careless.