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At thirty-one weeks pregnant, I was standing beside our kitchen island when I showed my husband the dating profile my coworker had found under the name “John.” He stared at his own photograph for three seconds before saying, “That could be anybody.” But when I asked him to unlock his phone, he pulled it against his chest and said, “I’m not living in a marriage where we inspect each other.” I picked up my pillow and walked toward the guest room before he finished the sentence.
Part 1 “Claire.” I kept walking. “Claire, come on.” The hallway from our kitchen to the guest bedroom was only twenty feet long, but...
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