“What’s going on?” I asked.

He looked up, but the man staring back no longer looked like my husband. “Don’t,” he said coldly.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t act innocent.”

He threw the envelope onto the floor at my feet, and photographs scattered across the rug. Pictures of me outside the hospital. Laughing beside Dr. Daniel Pierce.

Sitting across from him in a coffee shop. Touching his arm while handing him a patient file. Every photograph showed an ordinary moment. Every angle had been chosen to turn innocence into betrayal.