I spend my days teaching strangers how to read their own homes. I never thought my house would be the one telling on my husband.

A neighbor invited us to her housewarming. My husband swore he barely knew her. Then I borrowed his phone to find a recipe and noticed one small glowing icon.

He came home from his Saturday run with two coffees and a kiss. I almost didn't read what the barista had scrawled on the side of mine.

I balance our joint account every month out of habit, not suspicion. This time a routine five-hundred-dollar payment to an electrician stopped my hand on the mouse.

She came over to surprise him. The girl in his bed was the easy part to understand. The locked door down the hall was the part that broke her.

He always answered on the second ring. So when his name lit up my phone at midnight and he didn't speak, I almost hung up. I'm glad I didn't.