For years, I thought I knew exactly where my husband went every Wednesday evening.
Daniel always said he was stopping by his parents’ house after work. His father had needed extra help ever since knee surgery, and Daniel had fallen into the habit of checking on them once a week….
It was the kind of routine that made a marriage feel steady.
Safe.
Unquestionable.
Only later did I realize the clues had been sitting in front of me the entire time.
That Wednesday night began like every other one in our kitchen.
The pasta water boiled over the edge of the pot, hissing against the hot burner before I could grab the lid. Tomato sauce simmered too quickly on the stove. My eight-year-old son, Liam, lay across the kitchen island like homework had personally betrayed him.
