We linked our fitness trackers to keep each other accountable. On a quiet work trip, his recorded a 2 a.m. workout he couldn't explain.

For three years he swore they only ever "sat a meter apart." Then I opened the living-room camera on my phone and watched the distance between them disappear.

The reflection in the TV screen showed a woman tying her shoes at the foot of his bed.

I surfaced from sleep to a rhythm I didn't recognize in my own bedroom. When I opened my eyes, the woman I loved was already mid-betrayal.

My husband started wearing a plain silver band he swore was just a five-dollar impulse buy. I only picked it up to wipe off the soap scum.

He deleted the app, cleared his history, covered every track he could think of. He just forgot the one inbox we had always shared.