“How did you know?” Considering the warning Nolan had given me, I inquired.

“I did French throughout high school, Chad,” he replied. “I understood Camille to have mentioned hiding everything under the bed during their conversation. I apologize.”

“Where’s Camille?” I enquired.

“At the cafeteria, she said she needed to stretch her legs. So, she went to get coffee.”

I leaned back and considered the letters my wife had been getting.

The next day I was released from the hospital, and Nolan took me home. Camille fussed over me, pouring me a nutritious drink and assuring me that everything was well. Naturally, though, I wasn’t. Nothing was in order.

I had to correct the record that afternoon. I couldn’t feel the same way I used to when I looked at Camille.

I murmured, “I can’t continue in this marriage,” as Camille gave me some juice.

She questioned, “What are you talking about?”

“I know about the black box under the bed.”

Camille paled.

“I can explain,” she said, jumping up.

“I saw more than enough, Cami. I don’t think your version of an explanation would change that.”

“Just listen,” she said. “My parents set up the meeting with Benoit. They wanted me to be with someone French—to have completely French children.”

I glanced at her, perplexed as to how she thought I would sit there and continue to listen.

“So, after they arranged it,” she continued. “I met him. And we hit it off, and our friendship grew.”

“Divorce is what I desire.” I answered, unwilling to listen to anything else, “Immediately.”

Camille became agitated, accusing me of spying on her and violating her privacy. I reminded her that after what she had done, there was simply no love left in our marriage, despite her threats not to sign the divorce papers when they arrived.

“Give me another chance,” she pleaded.

But none of it was what I wanted.

During the brief divorce proceedings, Camille disputed every aspect of the agreement, including the house and spousal maintenance. She even insisted that I cover her yearly airfare to France. All things but the house, I declined. Anyhow, I didn’t want to be there any longer. I’ve moved into a bachelor pad nearer to my workplace.

Yes, I am heartbroken. Well, at least I’m not lying anymore. And that feels freeing.

I am also appreciative to Nolan for being honest with me and supporting me during our divorce.

I’m curious now if Camille will wind up with Benoit; if so, I know her parents would be overjoyed.

How would you have responded if you had been in my position?