She was not sorry.

She was not overcome.

She was pleased. My husband had just offered her my marriage in front of me, and her instinct, before she could stop it, was triumph — the small private smile of a woman watching a long plan pay off.

In that flicker I stopped seeing my grieving best friend and saw, for the first time, the person who had been coming into my home with a key.

The smile was the mask slipping, just for a second, and behind it was not love or weakness or human frailty.

Behind it was a woman who had wanted what was mine and was about to get it, and could not quite keep her face from showing how good that felt.