My husband asked me to let my sister be his “wife” for one night. He said it like he was asking me to pass the salt.

“Why on earth would my younger sister be the one accompanying you to your high school reunion,” I asked after I finally set my fork down. Troy did not look embarrassed or even slightly cautious as he sprinkled a mountain of cheese over his bowl.

“Back when we first started dating, some of the guys met Kelsey at that family party in the suburbs and they just assumed she was my girlfriend. I never really bothered to correct them because it didn’t seem to matter at the time,” he explained while refusing to meet my eyes.

He spoke about the lie as if it were a minor weather update rather than a fundamental erasure of my existence in his social world. “So now everyone basically thinks I ended up marrying her and I need her to come along as my wife for the night,” he added.

I felt the blood drain from my face so completely that the kitchen seemed to sharpen into a terrifyingly clear focus. “You told your childhood friends that you married my sister instead of me,” I whispered while the sound of the refrigerator hummed in the heavy silence.