The wine, a deep, blood-red Cabernet, was doing its job beautifully. It had melted the edges of the day, blurring the anxieties of my own life into a warm, pleasant hum. Laughter echoed in the high-ceilinged kitchen, bouncing off the gleaming stainless steel and expensive marble countertops. Most of it was Talia’s, my best friend. Her laugh was a bright, bubbly thing, utterly carefree. It was the laugh of a woman who had everything she’d ever wanted.

And sitting across from her, the cause of most of that laughter, was Michael. Her husband.

He was leaning back in his chair, one arm draped casually over the back, a picture of...