My husband brought me to a business dinner with a Japanese client. I pretended not to understand the language, but then he said something that stopped my heart

The night my life finally blew apart, San Francisco looked unreal—glass towers glowing, the Bay Bridge stitched with white headlights like veins. If someone had glanced through the window of that sleek Japanese restaurant on Market Street, they would’ve seen an ordinary-looking American couple and a composed Japanese executive sharing an elegant meal. A business dinner. Nothing more.

They would …