Dinner resumed, albeit with a palpable tension hanging over the table. Conversations were strained and sporadic, the clinking of cutlery against china too loud in the silence. I played the part of a wife unfazed by her husband’s betrayal, engaging Sofia in polite conversation, asking about her interests, and carefully avoiding the subject of her pregnancy. Michael watched, a hint of confusion in his eyes.

Underneath the facade, my mind was racing, replaying every instance of deceit, every moment of doubt that now made perfect sense. But I had anticipated this reckoning, and I had prepared accordingly.