My husband asked for an open marriage with another woman’s lipstick still on his collar.
I stood in our bedroom doorway and watched Grant button his shirt like this was a logistics meeting. Behind him, the intern from his office sat on our sheets in one of my robes, scrolling her phone, not even pretending to look sorry.
“It doesn’t have to be messy,” Grant said. “We’re adults. You can see other people too. That’s fairness.”
Fairness. As if he had offered me a gift instead of a funeral.
I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw the vase. I took my purse, my spare keys, and the black dress I had bought for an anniversary dinner he forgot, and I left.
I was supposed to go to my brother’s. I went to a bar instead.
That was how I found them.
Elias Voss saw me first.
He was at the far end of the
