The planning took months. I did not confront Laney. I did not tell her I was angry. I did not tell her she had broken something that could not be fixed. I maintained, with a discipline that I am still impressed by, my normal life with her. I texted her back within the usual twenty minutes. I went to drinks on Thursdays. I agreed to be in the group Halloween costume she was organizing. I listened to her complain about her husband. I did all of this while methodically, quietly, collecting what I

needed. The first thing I learned was that Laney's husband, a decent man named Brandon, had — I had known this for a while, but now I paid attention — become a quieter version of himself over the preceding year. The second thing I learned, over coffees with two different mutual friends I had never quite been close to but who were now suddenly hungry to talk to me, was that Laney had, everyone agreed, been acting strangely since January. Staying late at work. Leaving her phone face-down. Disappearing for weekends. The third thing I learned, in July, was that Laney was having an affair.