He had spent months building a structure of paper designed to leave me penniless, blameless-looking, and holding the entire weight of our childlessness on my back.

“He’s tidy,” Eloise said, almost admiringly, tapping a stack of it.

“Tidy men leave the best trails.

They can’t help themselves.

Every lie is documented somewhere, because a man like this trusts paper more than he trusts people.” She looked at me over her glasses.

“Which is lucky for us.