Not a feeling.

A fact I could hold: my husband had not been at Mason’s house.

I did one more thing before I called Evelyn, and I have never told anybody about it except my therapist.

I sat in that car and I ran the other explanation.

Because there was one, and it was not implausible, and I made myself sit with it for four full minutes: that my husband was having an affair, and that his mother knew, and that the two extra seats at the head table were a woman and her son being installed at a family event as a soft launch.

That was my working theory going into Saturday.