“Your mother is gone. Tears won’t bring her back—so wipe your face, make dinner, and don’t look like a grieving child when my guests arrive.” That was what my husband said.

The date of the video was our third wedding anniversary. That day, Mark had told me he had a stomach ache and had gone to bed early in our room. It turned out that after I fell asleep, exhausted from household chores, he had snuck out to meet Jessica. Seeing that visual proof, my heart felt as if a giant hand was squeezing it. It hurt. It was bitter. But strangely, I also felt relief. Relief because all my suspicions were confirmed. I wasn’t crazy. I wasn’t paranoid. My instincts had been right. They were traitors.