He came home at seven to a house full of lights but completely empty of people. Six children were at his mother’s house because I had called Rosalind at noon, and she drove ninety minutes without asking me to explain myself. On the kitchen island, I left one note: I had gone to have some fun and would be back Tuesday. The refrigerator was stocked, and the school run started at eight. Then I ‘drove forty minutes to a motel with one bag and a library book.

I slept for eleven hours. I ate an entire meal while sitting down. I took a shower without checking the clock or listening for someone calling my name. For two days, nobody needed anything from me. But on Sunday evening, Rosalind called. Her voice was different. She told me she had watched her own husband do exactly what her son had been doing, and she had spent thirty years convincing herself that it was normal. Then she told me what she had said to him on Saturday afternoon, with all six children listening. What happened next was not what I expected.