But now, staring at the reservation, reality crashed down. My fiancé had been in Spain with her. Not for business. For pleasure. For intimacy.

The days that followed were some of the hardest of my life. I confronted Kevin about it, of course. At first, he tried to brush it off, claiming the reservation had been for a group work trip, that the hotel had simply printed both names because they booked together.

But his eyes darted nervously, his voice faltered, and when I pressed harder, he exploded in anger. “Why are you snooping through my things? Don’t you trust me?” he shouted.