I loaded all the library books into the tote bag Dale uses for returns. There were eight of them. I drove to the library. I returned the books. The girl at the desk just scanned them and said thank you and I said you’re welcome and drove out of the parking lot.

And I sat in the library parking lot for a few minutes, which maybe seems strange. I think I needed a second. I was running on something, adrenaline or just the feeling of having a plan, and I needed to let that settle before I did the next thing.

The return address. It was on the inside flap of the last envelope. Written very small, like an afterthought, or like she’d included it without thinking too hard about whether she should. Four miles from the library. I’d driven past that neighborhood probably a hundred times. I sat there and looked at the address on my phone for a minute and then I drove there.

I want to say I had a clear plan for what I was going to do when I got there. I didn’t. I knew the address. I knew the street. I parked about half a block away because there was a spot. Her house is a small yellow craftsman with a garden out front that someone actually takes care of, pots on the porch, window boxes. I sat in the car and I looked at it for a while. I don’t know what I expected to feel. Rage, maybe. Or some kind of clarity.

What I actually felt was tired. Really, genuinely tired in a way that didn’t have anything to do with sleep. I thought about Dale at work right then, probably in a meeting, completely unaware that I’d spent the morning reading fourteen letters from the woman he’d been writing to once a week for two years.

I thought about the last Tuesday, and the Tuesday before that, and how I’d kissed him goodbye both those mornings without knowing anything.

I didn’t get out of the car. I want to be clear about that. I sat there for maybe twenty minutes, maybe more, and then I drove home. And I’ve thought about that decision a lot since then, whether it was the smart thing or whether I was just not ready, whether I’ll regret it. I honestly don’t know. I still have the copies in my glove box. I haven’t touched them since I put them there. Dale came home that evening and made dinner and asked me how my day was and I said fine. I listened to him talk and I watched his hands when he gestured and I thought about what she’d written.