“From whom?”

“A colleague.”

“Does the colleague have a name?”

His fork touched the plate with a small metallic sound.

“Nora, can you tell me what this is about?”

I knew he wanted me to make the accusation so that he could argue against it.

I also knew I was beginning to resemble someone I had never wanted to become: a wife keeping records of movements and half sentences because direct conversation no longer felt safe.

“I need you to stop deciding which information I can handle,” I said.