Her name was Tessa, and she knew nothing. Damien had told her he was divorced, that he was a senior partner, and that the beautiful apartment he rented for her was paid for by his bonuses. When an officer showed her the policy, she sat down hard in the booth and asked who I was. I told her. She started crying. Her hands were shaking as she took off the ring and set it beside the champagne.

Julian Marsh was a forensic accountant hired by Damien’s firm after auditors noticed missing funds. He had been following the money for months, and he had followed Damien to that restaurant because the firm’s lawyers planned to serve him there, in public, where he couldn’t destroy evidence. He apologized for scaring me with that whisper. The insurance company had flagged the forged signature on my policy the same week, and that sped everything up.

Investigators later explained the plan. Damien was drowning in gambling debts. He meant to let the embezzlement fall on me, divorce me before the audit finished, and walk away with Tessa and the money. The policy was his insurance if anything went wrong. Renata personally walked me to a cab that night. He was charged with embezzlement, forgery, and insurance fraud. The judge denied him bail after seeing the policy. He never looked at me once in court.

Every account in my name was closed, and the court cleared me completely. I filed for divorce from my kitchen table a week later. Tessa and I met for coffee in the spring, two women who had been lied to by the same man. Her daughter was born in June. I sent flowers. Julian sends me a card every year, too. And every year on what used to be my anniversary, I order sea bass, alone, and actually eat it.