Everything else followed from that.

The whole rest of my life turned on a tired woman deciding, at last, to trust her own instincts over her husband’s voice.

Chapter 8 — The Receipt

I picked up his suits that afternoon, and while I was shifting the plastic-wrapped hangers in the back seat, I went through the jacket pockets out of old habit, the way you check before laundry, and my fingers found a folded receipt.

It was from a luxury boutique hotel downtown.