For years, I was unfaithful to my wife and believed nothing would ever come of it. But the day I saw her holding another man’s hand, the betrayal finally had my name on it.
I opened the folder with a rage that still wanted to feel justified. As if I had any right to be indignant. As if the problem were that Laura had kept evidence, and not that I had given her every reason to do so. The first page was a screenshot. My name. A message from…
