I was leaving the dry cleaners with my husband’s suits when a colleague told me, “He’s not traveling, he’s been with another woman for days,” and at that moment I understood why my marriage was already a lie.

She had once complimented my cooking with a sweet smile that now made me feel physically ill. “He told me he was away for an important merger,” I whispered.

Simon closed his eyes for a moment, looking like he regretted starting the conversation. “I am so sorry, but she talks about it so openly at the office that everyone just assumes you are aware of the arrangement.”

The word “arrangement” stung more than the lie itself. It implied that I had somehow agreed to be humiliated while I spent my weekends straightening his ties and packing his suitcases.

“How long has this been happening?” I asked, though my voice sounded like it belonged to a complete stranger.

“It has been at least a year now,” Simon admitted after a long pause. “They were already together when I joined the firm.”

That meant a whole year of anniversary dinners where he seemed distant and nights where he returned home smelling like a different life. It was a year of tender text messages and quick kisses that were nothing more than routine lies served up on a silver platter.