A few more taps on my keyboard take me to an internet search on the name listed in the recent charges. Apple Tree Farms is, in fact, a corn maze, pumpkin patch, apple-picking farm, and a stand that sells cider. Pictures of happy families fill the screen. It’s the sort of place you go when your kids are little so they can do a hayride that isn’t scary.

Ken and I had gone on one of our first dates to just such a place. His suggestion was not the sort of place I would have chosen, but it had been fun. Back then, flush with the possibility that this might turn into something permanent, something like love, I hadn’t minded holding his hand as he guided me through the rows of corn. When we hit a dead end, he’d laughed. When we made it out on the other side, he’d said, “See? We make a good team.”

And we had, hadn’t we? At least for a time. Compared to the boys I’d dated, Ken had been a man. Trustworthy. Responsible. Reliable. That had been very appealing. So maybe I’d confused a desire for stability with actual desire. So what? We had a life together. Like I’d told Lisa and Beth, I needed Ken. But once, and not so long ago, I’d also wanted him.

Who has he been wanting?

What if there’s not another woman in his life, but an entire other family? Again, I scroll through the credit card charges, trying to both convince myself it can’t be true and looking for proof that it is.

There.

Not a big charge, one so small it would’ve completely slipped past me if I hadn’t been searching so closely. It’s for a toy store. There’s another small charge for a candy store. A quick search shows me they’re both at an entertainment complex that, according to the website, also features an indoor amusement park, waterslides, and a 3-D movie theater.

“He’s in the fucking Dells,” I whisper.

I’ve always wanted to vacation in the Wisconsin Dells, but Ken’s always spent too much time on the road for us to have more than an annual trip up to Cedar Point for a few nights, or maybe to rent a cabin in Hocking Hills. Now he’s in the Dells by himself … no, clearly not by himself.

Tears fill my eyes, burning, and slip down my cheeks. I lick them away from my lips, grimacing at the salty sting. My hands become fists, and I pound my knees, but in silence. Again, I hit myself. Pain throbs in my muscles. I slap away the tears on my cheeks. I smack at my mouth.

Ten years ago, our son was adjacent to a tragedy that continues to affect him to this day. Ten years ago, my husband begged me to forgive his infidelity. Ten years ago, I got myself clean and off drugs, and yes, I did it because I was scared into it, but I did it, and my darling husband never said a word about it.