So I started searching for evidence of his fantasy life. I checked his laptop Internet history whenever I could-I even bought a program to recover hidden files, but came up with nothing. I looked through his briefcase, hoping to find some sort of evidence of a fetish. I didn’t care what it was-bondage, spanking, peeing, wearing rubber suits, having sex with dogs. I realized the irony of it, as I went through his desk and computer at work after hours one night when he was on a business trip-I was a wife looking for something most women would be appalled to discover about their husbands.

Not that I thought whatever John fantasized about would be extreme. He was an accountant, for Pete’s sake-he played tennis and golf and liked watching hockey. If his name was “Joe,” you could have put “average” in front of it without too much trouble.

When I leveled with myself, I knew that his fantasies were probably pretty average, too-just the usual, tame lesbian and threesome kinds that every typical male had. It was the not knowing that made my imagination run wild.

Why wouldn’t he tell me? Was it so appalling? Was it disgusting? Was it illegal?

I had to know.

I had pretty much given up on the whole thing, when I discovered the phone bill.

John was Mr. Bills in our house. When they came in, I just threw them on his desk and didn’t worry about it, because he always took care of them. That afternoon, the phone bill seemed-thicker-than usual. My mother had some issues last month, and I remembered calling Kentucky a few times to talk to her, but not enough to create a huge bill. Maybe I called her more than I thought?