“Listen. You’ve been married, what? Ten years? It’s a hiccup. At ten years, most people would hate each other if they didn’t have children to distract them and love them back, right?” He laughs. “You’ve lucked out with how good it’s been. Now you’ve got to get through this shit together. You’ve got to address it before someone else does.”

“Yeah,” I say.

Ray’s voice is balm to my open wound when he repeats, “Shut it down, Bobby.”

I nod.

His insistence makes the whole thing real. If he weren’t so adamant, I probably could’ve talked away my hunch—and it’s still just a hunch. I could’ve tricked myself into believing I’m unreasonable or insecure, but the gravity of Raymond’s tone crushes all illusions. I’m Jonah’s father. Protecting him is my job, even if he can’t see the big picture—especially if the big picture means rescuing his closest friendship and his family from a collision course. Ray is right: there’s too much at stake. Kids don’t always recognize the motives driving their parents’ interventions, but when kids become grown-ups, they look back with wisdom and respect, knowing we did it all for them. Someday, Jonah will thank me.

Besides, my son’s serenity isn’t the only peace at stake. People assume that the divorce was easy on me just because I was already in love with someone new. Vanessa got everyone’s sympathy. So did Elizabeth’s ex. No one knew how our partners had changed. Vanessa offered so much in the beginning, then flipped the script and began expecting too much. Her betrayal was passive and ghostly, the kind of trick that makes a man think he’s lost his heart or soul. The thing I did, my betrayal toward Vanessa, it was out in the open. It happened publicly, and it happened quickly, and everyone dropped the gavel and called it bad. They didn’t know the dark corners of our marriage. They didn’t see that I’d done us both a favor by tearing the soiled Band-Aid off a gaping wound she inflicted in the first place.

“Bobby,” Ray says, “I hate to do this, man, but I need to get moving.”

“Of course. Thanks for—” I’m at a loss. Thanks for what? Thanks for meeting me, for straight shooting, for not making this weird, for not changing? Thanks for not giving a shit about Man of the Year and not hating me because I do? I care about seeing my picture in the paper. God, that picture in the paper. I feel queasy again, as for the first time it occurs to me to wonder if whatever happened this morning was already happening when Elizabeth wrapped her hand around Nick’s shoulder. Does she have it in her to flaunt such a thing in front of my face? And—