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Just before midnight, I walked into my own living room and found my husband asleep with our neighbor curled against his chest beneath the anniversary blanket my mother had given us. Caleb’s arm was around Tessa’s waist, her hand rested over his heart, and they looked so peaceful that for one terrible second I wondered whether I had somehow walked into someone else’s marriage. Behind them hung our wedding portrait, showing Caleb with his arm around me twenty-one years earlier. Beneath that photograph, he was holding another woman.