I would have told you, right up until that afternoon, that I knew my husband.
Not in the vague, comfortable way people say it after a few years of shared meals and routines.
I mean, I knew him the way you know someone who has sat with you in a hospital corridor at two in the morning and never once looked at his watch.
I knew my husband.
I knew Michael the way you know someone who has earned it.
Five years of marriage. Two children. One life I had built with complete confidence in its foundation.
I should’ve asked more questions about Laura.