We had what I thought was a happy life. Two kids, a house with a squeaky porch swing, and a Friday night tradition of making homemade pizza together. Damien was the kind of man who got respect wherever he went. A hardworking employee and a devoted dad.

And then there was Maribel, his so-called “office wife.” I’d met her many times, and I liked her well enough. She was bubbly, witty, and always mentioned her own husband with warmth. We weren’t friends, but I was relieved Damien had a coworker like her.

I even teased him at dinner sometimes, saying how nice it was that someone kept him sane during those endless late shifts.