Two days later, Simon found a contract granting Harper access to a company-owned apartment overlooking the harbor.

Wyatt had signed it personally.

The document was legal on its face, but it settled one question painfully: Harper’s place in my husband’s life had not been limited to hidden dinners.

I put the folder down.

My marriage was collapsing into facts, dates, signatures, and balances.

Yet the most important measure of what had happened was still sitting in Lena’s kitchen coloring a picture of a house with an enormous front door.

Piper had drawn the door open.