At 2 AM, my husband secretly packed his luggage and slipped out of our bedroom like a thief. Thirty minutes later, he sent me a photo of himself and his mistress at the airport

back to my hotel room, which overlooked the Chicago River. Reflections from the city stretched across the water like shattered threads of gold. I removed my shoes, placed the award on the desk, and prepared a cup of tea.

No medication hidden inside.

No performance.

No movement through the darkness.

I remembered the version of myself from 2:00 a.m. the continue reading …