Derek said, very quietly, "Man." That was all he said. He looked down at the table. I said, "Sam. Your turn." Sam closed his eyes. I said, "Last April, after our anniversary party, I told you something about my wife and me that was between us. I told you we were struggling. That we had been in couples therapy. That I was scared about where we were going to end up. You said, as you always said in those conversations, that it would stay between us. Three weeks later, at a barbecue at your house,

your wife — your wife, Sam — put her hand on my arm in the kitchen and said to me, 'I'm so sorry you and Hannah are going through it. Sam told me. I hope therapy is helping.' I am not mad that your wife cared. I am not mad that she reached out. I am mad that you told her. After I asked you not to. After I had been your best friend for twenty-one years. Sam, you have told your wife everything I have ever told you, and I do not know why I didn't know this until last April. But I do now. And I cannot tell you anything ever again. Which means — for us — there is nothing left."