I’ll divorce her, and then I’ll marry you.” And then, through the speaker, clear and unmistakable, came the wet, distinct sound of a kiss.

I could not move.

I stood in my kitchen, my baby daughter’s bottle warming on the stove, the phone pressed to my ear, and I listened to my husband tell another woman that he hated me, that he would divorce me, that our daughter, the pictures of our daughter, was an annoyance he wanted to escape.

And with my free hand, very quietly, so that he would never know I had heard, I ended the call.

I did not scream.