A few minutes later the waitress took our orders and left with the menus, and I instantly missed the protective barrier between James and me; there was nothing left to focus on except one another. We sat so close together, I could hear him breathing.

I looked directly at my husband, his face even more sunken in this light than earlier. I tried not to wonder when he last ate, as he seemed to have lost a few pounds. Taking a fortifying sip of wine, I began, “I’m so angry—”

“Listen, Caroline,” he interrupted, intertwining his fingers like I’d seen him do on the phone with disappointed clients. “It’s done. We’re having her transferred to another department, and I let her know that if she contacts me again, I’ll inform Human Resources.”

“So it’s her fault, then? Her problem? You’re the one on partner track, James. Seems to me that Human Resources might be more interested in your involvement.” I shook my head, already frustrated. “And why is this even about your work? What about our marriage?”

He sighed, leaning forward. “It’s unfortunate things came to light this way.” An interesting choice of words; he meant to diffuse responsibility. “But maybe it’s not all bad,” he added. “Maybe there’s some good to come of it, for us and our relationship.”

“Some good to come of it,” I repeated, astounded. “What good could possibly come of this?”

The waitress returned with large pasta spoons, delicately placing them before us, and the silence between the three of us was thick and awkward. She quickly left.

“I’m trying to level with you, Caroline. I’m here, now, telling you that I’ll do counseling, I’ll do soul-searching, I’ll do whatever.”

My solo trip to London was meant to be like a counseling session for me—until, of course, James showed up at my door. And his flippant manner angered me further. “Let’s start the soul-searching now,” I said. “Why did you do it? Why did you let it continue after the promotion event?” I realized that despite my desire to know the gruesome what and how, what I most wanted to know right that moment was...why? A question struck me at once, something I hadn’t considered before. “Are you scared of trying for a baby? Is that why?”

He looked down, shook his head. “Not at all. I want a baby just as much as you do.”

A small weight lifted inside of me, but the problem-solving part of me wished he’d said yes; then we could hold the truth up like a diamond, set it in front of the light and address the real issue. “Then...why?” I resisted the urge to spoon-feed him any more possibilities, and I brought the rim of the wineglass back to my lips.

“I guess I’m just not entirely happy,” he said tiredly, like the words alone exhausted him. “My life has been so safe, so fucking predictable.”

“Our life,” I corrected.