I went looking for the other woman. I never expected to find her sitting at our wedding, smiling in the front row, knowing the whole time.

It was just a kid's prank, lifting the second phone to spy on grown-up calls. Until one afternoon a familiar voice asked my mother what she'd cooked.

He started tracking his sleep to fix his snoring. One quiet Tuesday morning, I pressed play on the night's recording out of plain curiosity.

My phone buzzed during dinner with a payment request from a number I didn't know. The note attached to it ended my marriage in eleven words.

He always closed the laptop when I walked in. One night he forgot, and a chat channel was still glowing on the screen.

He came home from the rescue smelling of someone else's home. The kibble in the trunk was the first thing that didn't fit.