She followed them, took a photograph with her phone, and carried it to a print shop downtown, where she instructed the clerk to crop out the clinic sign, the entrance ramp, and the banner advertising maternal-health services — leaving only Marlowe standing beside an older, well-dressed man opening a car door for her.

That evening she slammed the cropped photo down on the kitchen table in front of Desmond.

“Your ungrateful wife is having an affair with a wealthy older man,” she announced, with total conviction.

Marlowe’s hands went to her stomach.

“I’m pregnant, Desmond, and that man is a legal counselor helping me.

Please — sit down and let me explain.”