Three years earlier, Maya had gone out into that world and told every person in it that Lucy was an unfaithful thief who had robbed her own husband’s company.

And they had believed her.

They had shunned Lucy, and gossiped about her, and struck her name from the guest lists and the group photographs, and quietly agreed among themselves that she had gotten what she deserved.

I had let all of it happen.

I had never once stood up in front of those people and corrected the lie, because the lie was convenient for me too, because a wronged man is a more comfortable thing to be than a foolish one.

The rumor was mine as much as Maya’s.