I cried in my husband’s arms at the airport as he boarded what he claimed was a two-year work assignment in Zurich

He had built himself carefully.

Or maybe he had built whatever each woman needed.

Grace continued. “Melanie told me he was separated.”

My mouth tightened.

“Of course he did.”

“She didn’t know about you at first.”

“And then?”

“She found out four months ago.”

My heart gave a dull thud.

Four months.

Four months of knowing.

“Did she care?”

Grace did not answer quickly. That, at least, I respected.

“She cried for two days,” she said at last. “Then Lucas told her you knew the marriage was over. That the two of you were quietly dividing things. That he didn’t want to upset you publicly before his work transition.”

I looked around my study, at the framed photograph on the bookshelf from our trip to Santa Fe. Lucas’s arm around my sho