I hurriedly pick up the remains of my clothes from the floor and throw them in the kitchen trashcan. I leave his clothes folded on a chair in the room and discard the condom packet. I don’t know why I’m trying to hide this now; she’s already seen it, and I’m guessing by the raised voices, she’s making that clear.

Like a guilty, dirty secret, as if I’m his mistress and she’s the wife showing up and catching us, I’m scurrying around trying to erase what I’ve done. I’m ...