« Your husband is in a five-star restaurant, and he’s not alone. » That was the message I received at midnight when I was eight months pregnant.

I took out the only dress that still fit me: a black silk maternity dress that had cost more than my first car. I put on my pearls. I slipped on ballet flats, because heels were an instrument of torture I could no longer endure.

I called the driver. « Take me to the Bernardin. »

Chapter 2: The View from the Bar
The restaurant was bathed in a hazy twilight, redolent of truffle oil and ostentatious luxury. The head waiter tried to stop me.

« Madam, do you have a reservation? »

« I am Mrs. James Calloway, » I said, trying to remain calm. « I am joining my husband. »

The name hit the mark. He paled and stepped aside.

I didn’t go to the table immediately. I stayed in the shadows near the bar, scanning the room.

And here they are. Table four.

James was sitting with his back to me, his shoulders hunched. And opposite him, Elena, radiant in a red dress that was definitely not « office-appropriate, » was sitting

They didn’t eat. They drank wine. Expensive wine. A bottle of Château Margaux was placed between them.

Then it happened.

James buried his face in his hands. He looked as if he were crying. Elena stood up, walked around the table, and embraced him from behind. She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. She whispered something to him.

James raised his hand and grasped hers, squeezing it tightly. He brought it to his lips.

It wasn’t a friendly embrace. It was intimate. It was desperate. It was the kind of contact shared by two people who shared a secret world.

I felt the air leave my lungs. The baby kicked, a sharp protest against the sudden acceleration of my heart rate.

My husband. The man who massaged my feet every night. The man who built the crib with his own hands. He was there, in the most romantic restaurant in town, hand in hand with a woman ten years my junior.

The anonymous caller was right.

I felt tears stinging my eyes, burning hot and stinging. I wanted to scream. I wanted to overturn the table. But then, something else happened. A coldness. A lucidity.

I wiped my eyes. I took a deep breath.

I crossed the dining room.

Chapter 3: The Interruption
« Is the wine good, James? »