I bought the recorder on a Tuesday morning, eight hours before she would leave for "book club." Target, then AutoZone, then home. I waited until she was in the shower — I could hear the water running, the fan humming in the bathroom — and I slipped out to her car with the device in my palm like it was a live grenade. The Civic's passenger seat has a little gap where the fabric meets the plastic floor runner, and the recorder fit there perfectly. Voice-activated, sixteen hours of battery, I'd tested it twice in my car. All I had to do was wait. She left at 6:47 that night, just like every Tuesday. Told me she'd be home by ten. Kissed me on the forehead. Told me she loved me. I told her I loved her too. And then I watched her drive away with a microphone hidden four feet from her body. Nine hours later, I played back what the recorder caught. And I had to listen to it three times before I believed it.