Her knuckles were white, and her fingernails were bitten down to the quick.

“You need to listen to me,” she said, her chest heaving.

“I am not some cliché, Clara. I know what you think of me.”

I did not release my grip on the steering wheel.

“I don’t think about you at all,” I said.

“That’s a lie,” she said, her voice rising, echoing against the low concrete ceiling.

“You came to the office to humiliate him. To humiliate us.”

A sedan drove past us, its headlights sweeping over Lila’s pale face.

The driver slowed down, staring at the confrontation, before continuing toward the exit ramp.

“Ethan and I have something real,” Lila said, leaning closer to the gap in the window.

“He told me everything. He told me how distant you’ve been for years.”

I looked at her eyes.

They were wide, watery, and entirely sincere.

She believed every single word that had come out of my husband’s mouth.

“He told you we sleep in separate rooms,” I said.

Lila blinked, surprised that I had said it so plainly.

“Yes,” she whispered.