A few minutes later the woman appeared in the doorway. She was still wearing my robe, though now she had it closed up to her neck. Her eyes were red, and she held her shoes in one hand.

“My name is Bianca,” she said. “I need to ask you something. Weren’t you two separated?”

“No,” I said. “We weren’t separated.”

Bianca gripped the red shoes until their heels pressed into her palm.

“He told me you moved to Houston in January. He said the divorce had been filed, that you came back sometimes to collect belongings.”

I looked at her, searching for the confidence I had seen in our bedroom. It was gone.

She looked frightened, and not entirely because of what I might say.

“I was living here in January,” I answered. “I painted that nursery wall. I went to appointments. I slept beside Gavin every night, until I was admitted for Willa’s birth.”

Her eyes filled. “He showed me papers.”

“What papers?”