Linsy stared at the garish pink smear on the pristine cotton, her mind a blank, white noise. Time elongated, stretched thin around the damning evidence in her hands. In the world they moved in, women were fixtures at such events—arm candy, bargaining chips, background decoration. Michael was a magnet for them. She had long ago schooled herself not to flinch at the lingering glances, the practiced, thirsty smiles. It was part of the landscape, like the expensive art on their walls—something ...