At my husband’s office party, our 4-year-old daughter suddenly pointed to a woman across the room and said, “Mommy, that’s the lady with the butterflies!” I laughed awkwardly. “What butterflies, sweetie?” She leaned in close and whispered, “The ones Daddy said live in her bed.”

The chandeliers shimmered above the ballroom like captured stars. Soft jazz filled the air, and the clinking of champagne glasses blended with polite laughter. Adriana Voss adjusted the silver strap of her dress, trying to look composed among her husband’s colleagues. It was the annual corporate gala at the Grand Regent in Boston, and her husband, Charles, was the man of the evening, newly promoted to regional vice president.

Their daughter, Nora, perched on Adriana’s lap, nibbling on a chocolate cookie. The little girl had begged to come, and Charles had eagerly agreed. A picture-perfect family made for a good impression.

Adriana was speaking with another guest’s wife when Nora pointed toward the bar. “Mama,” she said cheerfully, “that’s the lady with the butterflies.”

Adriana smiled faintly. “What butterflies, sweetheart?”

Nora leaned close, whispering as though sharing a secret. “The butterflies Daddy said live in her bed.”

The music blurred into static.