My wife started coming home after 9 p.m. with weird marks on her wrists – so I showed up at her office unannounced one evening

Like a doctor's office before bad news.

Then I heard it.  Laughter.

Soft, muffled, then followed by a low hum of conversation. It was coming from down the hall. Nara's office. The blinds were drawn, which immediately struck me: she hated enclosed spaces.

"They make me feel caged, Jon," she had said. "I need high ceilings and open floors!"

I slowed down, my heart was beating so hard it felt like it was pressing against my throat.

I knocked. Nothing. I tried the handle. It was locked.

Then I heard her voice behind the door, muffled but unmistakably my wife's.

"Who's there?" she asked.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I stood there, my hand frozen to the metal handle, staring at it as if it could turn back time.

Finally, the lock clicked. The door creaked open.

And there she was.

Nara.

Wide eyes. Pale face. The kind of expression you give to someone you weren't expecting and maybe didn't want to... see.