My husband was always “at work,” so after our anniversary dinner sat untouched until nearly midnight, I booked an appointment under my maiden name. I expected to uncover something small. Instead, I walked into Marco’s office and found racks of women’s dresses, wigs, heels, a camera on a tripod, and a measuring tape in his hand. Then he turned around, saw me, and froze.

Marco was holding a measuring tape when I walked in.

That was the first thing I noticed.

Behind him stood a rack filled with women’s clothes, surrounded by heels and carefully styled wigs.

A full-length mirror stood nearby.

So did a camera mounted on a tripod.

For several seconds, my brain simply stopped working.

Marco had his back to me, adjusting something on a mannequin.

I stood in the doorway clutching my purse.

“Marco?”

He turned.

Every trace of color disappeared from his face.

“G-Gigi?”

The measuring tape slipped from his hand.

I looked around again.

Cream blouses.

Black dresses.

Handbags.

A makeup station.

Three wigs resting on mannequin heads.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

I almost laughed.

“That’s your first question?”

Marco stepped toward me.

“Gigi, I can explain.”

“You told me you worked with a hospital.”

“I do.”

“There are women’s heels in your office.”

“I know.”

“And wigs.”

Silence.

“And a camera.”

“I can see that, Gigi.”

I pointed toward the measuring tape lying on the floor.

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