For months, I believed Marcus was planning the surprise of a lifetime. He told me his company had chosen him for an extraordinary cruise, something so rare that he could hardly explain the details. I was heavily pregnant with our triplets and mostly confined to bed, so I was happy for him when he said he deserved a break. He promised he would return refreshed and ready to help me prepare for the babies.

Then he disappeared for five months.

His calls became rare, his messages vague, and whenever I asked when he was coming home, he told me everything was complicated. I tried to trust him because I had no choice. Meanwhile, I moved into my grandmother’s house, the home she had left me, and prepared for three daughters without knowing whether my husband would ever return.

He finally came back on a bright afternoon, walking through the airport with a suitcase, a deep tan, and a woman in a white silk blouse holding his arm. Before I could even ask where he had been, he announced that he wanted a divorce. He said he had found his “real love” and intended to start over.

I looked at the woman, then at Marcus, and smiled. “Before you do that,” I said quietly, “there are a few things you should know about your wonderful cruise.”