It all began when my wife returned from a party with her friends, carrying the scent of a men’s cologne that wasn’t mine—and in the end, it led to someone losing everything.

“Yeah,” I said. “Just tired.”

She nodded and went upstairs. I waited until I heard the bathroom door close before standing. Her coat was draped over a dining chair. I picked it up, felt the lingering chill in the fabric, and brought the collar closer.

Same cologne.

I checked the inside pocket. Lipstick. A receipt from a bar in downtown D.C. A valet ticket stamped 11:48 p.m.

Claire had told me she was going to a private dinner with six college friends. No bar. No valet. No reason for another man’s scent to cling to her.