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

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.

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 saved every password we ever made into one tidy shared vault. I just wanted the Wi-Fi code. I found something else with a name attached.

He swore he was pulling a double shift at the hospital. A glowing little notification on the family TV told a different story.

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.