“I did not want to believe it.

I hired him to prove myself wrong.

He did the opposite.”

I made myself say the rest plainly, because they needed to hear it plainly.

“While I was recovering from my fifth round of fertility treatment,” I said, “exhausted, and hopeful, and trusting my husband, Julian was spending his weekends at luxury hotels in Chicago.

With Chloe.

It had been going on for a long time.” Arthur said nothing.

He drew the photographs from the envelope, slowly, and began to look through them, and I watched a lifetime of judicial composure hold his face steady even as his knuckles went white around the edges of the paper.