I only knew that I had stopped trusting the story, and started collecting the facts.

That evening, something about the food was wrong — a taste that did not belong — and this time, instead of ignoring it, I understood it, and I acted.

I let myself appear to grow dizzy, and let Christopher walk me to the guest room, and lay down.

But I did not let go.

I kept my eyes open the barest sliver, and through my lashes I watched my own husband take out his phone and photograph me lying there.

And the moment the door closed, I fought the heaviness with everything I had and forced myself upright, and I checked.