“And I wish my story was unusual,” Camille continues, “but it’s not. It’s as commonplace as anything. So many women have done what I’ve done, because we are mothers and our children always come first.”

“It reminds me a lot of Micky’s story, except I don’t think Darren cheated on her.”

“Oh, there are endless variations, but it always comes down to the same thing.”

“What about the lack of respect your husband showed you by going behind your back time and time again?”

“He showed his respect for me in other ways and I had to learn not to let my respect for him depend on that. Let me be clear here, for Jean-Claude it was definitely compulsive. Things could have been so different between us if only he’d been honest. We could have had a productive conversation, come to some sort of arrangement. But that was not the case.”

“Like an open marriage, you mean?” I chuckle. “You should talk to Caitlin.”

“Is she an expert on the matter?” Camille’s voice is serious.

“Oh yes. Something she and I disagree on greatly.”

“Really? Have you always disagreed on it? Or only since you found out you’d been cheated on?”

Camille should be the interviewer. She always has the best questions. “She lived in America for a long time and came back just as things went awry between me and Rebecca, so I guess my vision on the matter was a little tainted in most conversations we’ve had about it. But, yes, I do know that cheating and dishonesty have no place in an open relationship. It’s about the exact opposite. I know all the theories, I just don’t think I would be able to live like that.” My tone is getting tenser. I can so easily predict this conversation spiraling into a rant about Rebecca—the last topic I want to discuss with Camille on this beautiful autumn day.

“I would love to talk to Caitlin some time,” Camille says.

“I’m sure she would love to talk to you.” I run my thumb over the palm of her hand. “Would you like me to set something up?”

“That would be nice. Just to get a different perspective on you.”

“It’s so unfair. I don’t get to chat to any of your friends.”

“You would have to travel to Paris for that.”

“Only if you can hook me up with Dominique Laroche.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she says, stops in her tracks, and kisses me again. To anyone passing by, we must look like a couple newly in love.

“How about we go back to my place now?” I ask.