My heart races as I take deep breaths and try to calm down. I’m safe in bed. It’s dark outside. David is home, how nice, snoring beside me after his workout and dinner. Climbing out of bed, I’m desperate for a drink. Of water, or wine, or both. But first, I creep into the bathroom, illuminating my way with the soft light from my phone. And there is David’s phone, where he always leaves it, plugged in and resting on the counter next to his sink. My heart thumps as I quickly enter the code and smile with relief when I realize he hasn’t changed it. It’s our two birthdays, 1420. I open Find My Friends on my phone, a feature I didn’t realize we all have until I did a little research. How wonderful. I send David’s phone an invite, and accept on his behalf. Now I’ll know exactly where he is all the time. I glance out toward the bed, listening for the quiet rumble of his snore. There it is.

I grab his phone again and open the text messages even though I’ve already read them in real time with my handy parental control app, otherwise known as spyware. These products are versatile. I mean, they sell them so we concerned parents can track our kids, a perfectly legitimate use, am I right? And can you ever be too vigilant, too protective? Of course not. Don’t judge—everybody uses these things, not just me.

I simply added one more person to my bundle, my loving husband. Oh, look, there is a new text. From her: smiley, kissy face, red heart. She’s so predictable with her childish overuse of emoticons, and her stupid declarations of love. As if Italian food is romantic. It’s not. It’s fattening. She’s ridiculous. David, I’m sure, has realized it, too.

It’s not all his fault that he fell into her arms. Men are needy. And I know, I’ve been rather distant, ignoring him, first adjusting to Mary going away to college and then her tragic death. I’ve been lost in my complicated grief. So he looked for attention elsewhere. That’s finished now. I’m back in the game, large and in charge, as they say. Sure, she’ll be sad for a little bit, but she’ll move on. She’s so young, so good at the game. There are plenty of wealthy, older men for her to latch on to. Tomorrow at the memorial service she’ll witness David and me in love, unified. The service will be our recommitment ceremony of sorts. It also will be the end of smiley, emoticon over-user. Time’s up.