“I was protecting your future, Alex.

She was trying to trap you into coming back to a dead marriage.” “The envelope had my name on it!” Alex shouted, his voice cracking against the paneled walls of the grand parlor where he had eaten a thousand Sunday dinners.

But Beatrice had already retreated into the fortress of her own righteousness, and Alex understood that he would get no confession from her tonight.

So he did something else.