My husband returned from a three-day fishing trip with a wedding ring mark on his finger — he hasn’t worn a ring in 12 years. My husband had taken the same fishing trip with his friends every summer for years. Three days at a lake. Bad cell service. Cheap motel. Nothing unusual. But when Mark came home Sunday night, something felt different. He hugged me quickly, carried his bag upstairs, and barely talked through dinner. Then he reached for his glass. That’s when I saw it. A pale band around his left ring finger. A perfect wedding ring mark. Mark hadn’t worn his wedding ring in twelve years. After breaking that finger at work, the ring became uncomfortable, so he’d kept it in our bedroom drawer ever since. “What’s that?” He followed my eyes. For a second, he froze.

I found a motel key card.

Receipts.

Fishing line.

Then a jewelry store receipt.

Two towns away from the lake.

My hands went cold.

The next morning, after Mark left for work, I opened his laptop.

His password had changed.

That was new.

I tried the old one.

Wrong.

His birthday.

Wrong.

Our anniversary.

Wrong.

Then I typed the name of his favorite fishing lake.

It opened.

That hurt almost more than if the password had been another woman’s name.

The desktop looked ordinary.

Work folders.

Photos.

Documents.

Then I noticed one folder with a small ring icon.

I clicked it.

The first photograph loaded slowly.

Mark stood inside the marina restaurant.

He was holding hands with a woman in a white dress.

My entire body went numb.

The second photograph showed him sliding a ring onto her finger.

The third showed them kissing.

I stared at the screen.