I touched my left wrist, where my wedding band used to sit comfortably before the hormone treatments thinned my skin.

“He told me he missed my hospital discharge after the third procedure because a commercial loan closing went late,” I said.

Nora uncapped her pen again and drew a neat circle around a date on her calendar grid.

“His car was logged into the underground garage on Forty-Fourth Street at two thirty that afternoon.

He spent two hours in a private meeting room with Brielle’s personal attorney.”

“A lawyer?” I asked.