What I know is this. I went back to Danville the next Saturday by myself. I sat in the parking lot and I watched. And he showed up. Because of course he did, it’s what he does on Saturdays.

He had a little girl on his hip. She had dark curly hair. He was carrying a cloth grocery bag on his other shoulder and he was talking to a woman walking next to him, and they looked like a normal family doing their weekend shopping. He kissed the little girl on the top of her head when they got to the door.

I don’t know what I thought I would feel watching that. Rage, maybe. Or devastation. I think I actually felt something closer to just being very tired. Not the tired where you need sleep. The other kind.

I have not told my kids. I have not talked to a lawyer yet, though I have the number in my phone. I have not talked to Tiffany Brooks, though I know her address now because it’s listed on the joint checking account that I am apparently a stranger to. I have been sleeping in the guest room and telling Callie it’s because of my back. She probably doesn’t believe me. She’s 14, not four.

He has tried to explain it twice. Both times I’ve gotten up and left the room. Not because I can’t hear it. Because I’m not sure I’m ready to hear the rest of that sentence yet. “The reason I never told you is because Tiffany is your…” and whatever comes next.

I keep thinking about the cashier in Danville. How she said it without any hesitation. “He comes every Saturday. With a woman and a baby.” Like it was just a regular fact about a regular customer. Like he was somebody’s normal husband in that town.

The loyalty points total is still sitting at 47,000. I haven’t cashed them in. I don’t know why. Maybe I’m just not ready to close the account yet.