One evening I tested him.
I mentioned that once the sale was over, maybe we should finally take that trip to New Zealand.
His face lit up.
He kissed my forehead and told me it was exactly what we needed.
That was the moment I understood something chilling.
He was not pretending.
He had compartmentalized his life so completely that he could betray me in the afternoon and talk about retirement travel over dinner without feeling the fracture.
Three days later, I told Patricia to proceed.
Michael was served divorce papers at his office on a Tuesday morning.
He called seventeen times in under an hour.
When I finally answered, he was frantic, confused, outraged. He asked whether I had lost my mind. Whether stress had broken me. Whether this was some kind of mistake.
I told him to come home.
When he arrived, I was waiting in the living room with my laptop open on the coffee table.
He demanded an explanation.
I turned the screen toward him.
The first photograph showed him with Melissa entering a hotel.
The second showed them kissing in his car.
The third was a screenshot of their messages.
By the time I finished, the color had drained from his face.
He sat down like his knees could no longer hold him.