I could have stayed locked inside my terrible certainty and called the authorities and let the accusation stand, and Jacqueline would have had to prove her innocence, and something between us would have been permanently damaged even after the flour was confirmed, because there is a residue that clings to a person after you have accused them of something monstrous, even when you turn out to be wrong.

But some stubborn honest part of me insisted on checking first, on seeing with my own eyes before I destroyed anything, and I have been grateful to that part of me ever since.

It is a small piece of wisdom I carry now: before you act on the terrible story, open the bag.

Check.

Taste the flour.

Give reality one chance to correct you before you set fire to something you cannot rebuild.

Most of the damage we do to the people we love, I have come to believe, comes from acting on the terrible story before we have bothered to open the bag.