I didn't confront her that night. I'm not proud of what I did instead. I let her come home, smelling of sweat and cheap perfume, and I kissed her and asked her how book club was, and she told me a detailed lie about a novel she had clearly not read. I nodded. I told her I was tired. I went to bed. And the next morning, after she left for work, I called her mother. Riley's mother Dana lives in Omaha and has been the kind of mother-in-law I genuinely liked. I sat on our back porch and I told Dana everything. The Tuesdays. The recorder. The money. The name Harlowe. And Dana went very, very quiet on the other end of the phone, and then she said something that took the air out of me. "Her father had the same problem. It nearly destroyed us. I didn't know it had come for her too."