I had been betrayed by three.

My husband, who had planned it.

His mistress, who had coordinated it, down to the timing of the cameras.

And my mother-in-law, who had executed her part faithfully, again and again — who had taken my sick child by the hand and walked him out of his own home so that his father could bring another woman into my bed, and who had then, when the child saw something he shouldn’t have, taught him to be afraid, and to stay silent, and to believe that the safety of his whole family rested on his small shoulders keeping their filth a secret.

Three adults.