My husband let me borrow his phone to find a restaurant. The map already knew where it wanted to take me, and it wasn't anywhere I recognized.

I only bought the camera to watch the cat eat. One slow Tuesday afternoon I opened the app and saw a woman I had never met walking through my living room.

From a hotel room three time zones away, I flicked our living room lights on and off just to make him laugh. He didn't laugh. He called me screaming.

My wife told me over a half-eaten sandwich, the way you'd mention rain on the way. Then she explained what the dinner parties had really been for.

Grading essays all day taught her to spot a machine pretending to be a person. She never expected to find that same fingerprint on a love letter meant for her husband.

My husband only reads dense biographies. So why did our library account show five paperback romances I knew he would never open?