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feel for you and the kids is real. I swear to God, Viv.”
    I’ve taken classes in detecting deception, and I’m vaguely aware of the fact that he’s showing none of the signs. He’s telling the truth.
    But then, wouldn’t he have received the same training? More of it, probably. Wouldn’t he know how to convincingly lie?
    Hasn’t he been doing it for twenty-two years?
    Caleb’s chewing on my finger, tiny sharp teeth digging into my skin. The pain is strangely welcome, and I don’t stop it, because it’s the only thing that feels real right now.
    “The day we met…,” I say. And I can’t continue. I can’t make myself finish the thought, ask what I want to ask, what I already know deep down. It’s too much.
    He takes a moment to respond. “I’d been watching you all morning. When I saw you with that box, I walked in front of you.” He looks guilty when he says it. At least he looks guilty.
    I think of how many times I’ve told the story of our first meeting. How many times he’s told it. How we’ve each laughed in all the right places, jumped in with our own perspectives.
    It was all a lie.
    “You were my target,” he says, and my breath catches in my throat. The fact that he’d say it—that’s proof he’s being honest. It has to be proof. But that’s the wife in me speaking, isn’t it? The counterintelligence analyst in me says he’s telling me what I already know. The oldest trick in the book, a way to try to make himself seem more truthful than he really is.
    “But then I fell in love with you,” he says. “I fell deeply, deeply in love with you.”
    He looks sincere. And of course he loves me. You don’t spend a decade married to someone you don’t love. I shake my head. I don’t know what to believe anymore. And the thought that he might actually
not
love me is more than I can wrap my head around.
    “At first I couldn’t get over how lucky I was. It wasn’t until much later I realized how awful it is, that our relationship is built on a lie. One that I can’t share, because if I do, everything will come crashing—”
    He stops abruptly and focuses his attention on a spot behind me. I turn and see Luke standing silent in the doorway. I wonder how long he’s been there. What he’s heard. He looks from Matt to me, his eyes serious, reminding me so much of his father’s.
    “Are you fighting?” he asks in a small voice.
    “No, sweetie,” I say. And my heart breaks for him, though my mind can’t fully process why. “We’re just having a grown-up conversation.”
    He says nothing, just watches us, and for the first time I realize I can’t read his expression, can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s Matt’s son, he’s always going to be Matt’s son. Maybe I’ll never know what he’s thinking, whether he’s telling me the truth. I have an unsettling sense that my whole life is slipping through my fingers and I’m powerless to stop it.
    “Dad, can we play catch now?” he asks.
    “Not now, buddy. I’m talking with Mom.”
    “But you promised.”
    “Buddy, I—”
    “Go,” I say, interrupting him. It’s what I need now. Him gone. Time to think. I stare at him evenly, then add more quietly, “You wouldn’t want to
lie
to him.”
    A wounded expression crosses his face. But that’s what I intended, right? Let him be hurt. It’s nothing compared to the hurt I feel.
    And I stare evenly back. Suddenly I’m angry at him. So angry. He betrayed my trust. Lied to me, for a decade.
    He looks like he’s about to say something, then stops. Still has the hurt expression on his face. He stands up wordlessly, walks around the table, over to where I sit. I continue staring straight ahead, at the wall now. He hesitates next to me, then puts a hand on my shoulder. A shiver runs through me at his touch.
    “We’ll talk about all this,” he says. His hand stays on my shoulder a moment longer, and then he drops it, follows Luke out of the room. I stay at the table, staring