The first thing I did was file for divorce. I did this within a week. Owen did not contest anything. He paid for the mediator. He took the smaller share of the assets. He moved out of the house we had shared for six years and into a one-bedroom apartment in a building twenty minutes away, and he spent the first three months of his new lease crying on the phone to me

every ten days or so. I did not hate Owen. I still do not hate Owen. Owen was, I have come to understand, the weaker of the two people who did this to me. Kat was the one who had engineered it. Kat was the one who had walked past my sleeping body. Kat had, I would find out later, made two comments to Owen during that weekend that were designed to pull him across a line. He went. He should not have gone. But he was not the architect. I did not tell Kat about the divorce right away. I let her find out through our mutual friend Hannah, seven weeks later. She texted me. She said, "Why didn't you tell me?" I said, "I've been busy." I did not say more.