The envelope came three weeks before the airport.

It arrived in the ordinary mail, at the house, with no return address and my name typed on the front, and I have never learned who sent it, though I have my guesses, and I am grateful to them whoever they are.

Inside was the end of my marriage, organized like a case file.

There were hotel invoices, dates and cities that did not match the trips Flynn had told me about.

There were private messages, printed out, between my husband and Selina Cole, who was Vance Global’s chief financial officer and whom I had seated at my own dinner table more times than I could count.