The morning after our wedding, I was emptying my husband's tuxedo pockets before dropping it off at the dry cleaners — I reached in to check for loose change, but what I pulled out made my heart start pounding.

I didn't say anything after he hung up.

Ian set the phone on the table between us.

He looked at me with the expression of a man who had just done something difficult and was waiting to be told it was enough.

"Done," he said.

"I heard."

"I meant every word."

"I know you think you did."

He frowned.

"What does that mean?"

I looked at the phone on the table.

"When you said her name.

At the start of the call.

There was something in your voice."

"I was nervous.

This is not a normal situation."

"It wasn't nervousness." I kept my voice even.

"I've heard you nervous.

This was different."

He pushed back from the table slightly.

"You're looking for reasons not to trust me."

"I'm looking at what's in front of me."

"You're twisting things." His voice rose just slightly.

"I just called her.

In front of you.

I ended it.

Completely.

What else do you want from me?"

"The truth."

"I've been telling you the truth for the last hour."

"Parts of it," I said.

He stood up.

Walked to the window again.

It seemed to be where he went when he needed to not be looked at directly.

"You've already decided, haven't you.

You made up your mind before you came back upstairs."

"No.

I came back upstairs because I wasn't sure."

"And now?"

I didn't answer immediately.

I looked at the envelope on the table.

At his phone.

At the passports still sitting where he'd set them when we walked in.

"Ian," I said.

"Is there anything else I should know?

Anything at all.

Because if I find out later that there's something you didn't tell me today — something you had the chance to tell me right now — I won't be able to come back from that."

He turned from the window.

He looked at me for a long time.

"No," he said.

"There's nothing else."

I nodded slowly.

Then I picked up my phone and called Carrie back.

She answered on the first ring.

"What happened?"

"He admitted the overlap.

He said it ended in February.

I have a photo from March."

"What did he say about the photo?"

"That it was the last time.

That he went to end it in person."

"Do you believe him?"

I looked at Ian, still standing by the window, watching me make this call without trying to stop me.

"I believe that he believes it," I said.

Carrie was quiet for a moment.

"That's not the same thing."

"No," I agreed.

"It's not."

"What are you going to do?"

Ian was watching me.

His face was open, careful, waiting.

He looked like a man who understood that the next few minutes would determine something important.

"I'm not going to Greece," I said.

"Not today."

Carrie exhaled.

"Good."

"But I'm not making any other decisions today either.

I need time."

"That's fair."

"Can I come to you?"

"I'll put the kettle on," she said immediately.

I ended the call.

Ian hadn't moved.

"I'm going to Carrie's," I said.

"I need a few days."

"A few days." He repeated it like he was trying to understand the shape of it.

"Yes."

"And the honeymoon."

"We can rebook.

Or not.

I don't know yet."

He crossed the room.

He stopped just in front of me, close enough that I could see the tiredness in his face, the genuine distress, the thing that looked very much like grief.

"I don't want to lose you," he said.

"I know."

"Tell me what to do.

Whatever it is, I'll do it."

"Right now," I said, "I need you to let me go."

He stepped back.

Just one step.

But it was enough.

I picked up my bag.

I left the honeymoon itinerary on the table.

I left the tuxedo in its garment bag.

I took the envelope.