But I have always treasured this particular part, the image of the two of them strolling down that platform in their expensive coats, congratulating each other, rehearsing the lie they would tell, utterly certain they had gotten away with everything, walking with complete confidence toward the automatic glass doors of the terminal, behind which their entire lives were about to end.

There is a specific quality to that kind of dramatic irony, the kind where a person walks confidently toward a catastrophe they cannot see, that I have thought about a great deal since, because it is the exact inverse of what my whole marriage had felt like.

For fifteen years, I had been the one walking blind, the one who did not know what was really happening, the one whose confident sense of her own life kept turning out to be built on things that were not true.

Julian had known about the affair while I did not.