My name is Marcus, I’m thirty-five, and up until last winter, I was married to a woman I thought I would grow old with. Laura was sharp, funny, and charismatic. People gravitated toward her, and I was proud she was my wife. We had a daughter together, Chloe, five years old and tender-hearted, who rarely went anywhere without her stuffed bunny, Mr. Whiskers. That bunny, tattered and threadbare, was her anchor.

I wasn’t the perfect husband. My consulting job required a lot of travel—long weeks away at conferences and client sites. I told myself I was sacrificing time at home to give Laura and Chloe security. But in truth, I often gave them money and stability when what they needed was my presence.

Still, I never expected to walk through my front door one February afternoon and find Laura in bed with another man. His name was Joel, a coworker she’d once described as “harmless.” I remember standing there, holding a box of tiramisu I’d bought to surprise her, while the sound of their laughter turned into the sound of my life splintering. Read more below