And I was learning, in real time, at the worst possible moment, that it was not fixed at all, that my mother’s loyalty flowed not to the wronged child but to whichever outcome caused her the least social discomfort, and that the least discomfort, for Wendy, lay in everyone accepting the affair and moving smoothly on to the wedding.

My grief was inconvenient to that.

So my grief was the problem.

Soon the whole family knew, and relatives whispered, and friends stared, and everyone had an opinion about my marriage — and almost none of the opinions were on my side, because being on my side would have required making a scene, and my family did not make scenes.

They accepted situations.

Even this one.