I had believed he was excited about our son.

I had believed our frequent arguments were just the ordinary financial friction of a young marriage.

I had built a whole comfortable story out of those beliefs, and I had lived inside it, and it had let me not see the things that, in hindsight, were impossible to miss.

The way his anger had grown colder and more controlled over the last year, instead of hotter.

The questions about my accounts, my policies, my family’s estate, always framed as concern.

The way his assistant Gretchen had started appearing in more and more of his evenings.