“Don’t,” I said.

“Don’t you dare build my husband a hero’s story out of my blood.

There was no plan.

No secret sacrifice.

He put a knife in me because he chose to believe Sabrina over me, and you are sitting here trying to sand his guilt down into something you can both live with.” I took out my phone.

“There’s something you weren’t expecting.” I showed her a video I had recorded weeks before: Nathan, in his office, my scan lying on his desk — torn, and then taped back together.

I had torn that envelope the day I overheard him with Sabrina.