Not because I trusted her explanation.

I listened because the tremor in her voice sounded exactly like mine had five months earlier, when I stood alone in the bathroom reading her messages on Victor’s phone and understood that my marriage hadn’t shattered in one dramatic moment.

It had been quietly taken apart while I struggled to hold together the life we’d built.

That evening, Diane and I sat across from Victor at a conference table inside the federal building.

Without his custom-tailored coat, he seemed smaller.

His gaze fixed on me. “Claire,” he said, softening his voice, “baby, please.”