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.

She understood that her husband had been ashamed of her for years in ways both petty and profound.

She understood that her sister had said yes too quickly for this to have been the first conversation.

And she understood, with a calm that frightened even her, that the next thing she did mattered more than the rage trying to rise in her throat.

That night, she washed the dishes by hand though the dishwasher was empty. Damen went back to the couch and laughed at something on television. She watched his reflection in the dark kitchen window instead of the sink.

A woman can spend a long time missing the shape of her own unhappiness if her days are crowded enough.