“I didn’t take it,” she smiled, her eyes cold and steady. “I protected it. Under Indiana law, dissipation of marital assets is a very serious thing. You spent thousands of our savings on another woman. My lawyer has been very thorough.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a small, clear plastic recording device, laying it right next to the silver-plated Kohl’s watch I had bought her. The red light on top of the device was solid. It had been recording since we sat down.

“I needed you to admit the affair out loud,” she said, folding her hands over her purse. “Howard said a written confession is good, but a verbal admission with a third-party witness is absolute gold for the judge. I wanted to make sure there was no room for you to lie in court.”

Right then, our waitress, Tracy, walked over to our table holding a fresh pot of coffee. She didn’t ask if we wanted refills. She just stood there, looking directly at Brenda, and nodded once. Tracy is my wife’s sister’s oldest daughter. She had been standing ten feet away the entire time, pretending to clean the menus, but her eyes had been locked on our table.

“Did you get all of that, Tracy?” Brenda asked.

“Every single word, Aunt Brenda,” Tracy said, her voice completely flat. She reached into her apron pocket and tapped her phone screen, stopping a second recording. “I’ll send the audio file to Howard’s assistant before my shift ends.”

I sat there, frozen, as the reality of what had just happened settled into my chest like a block of concrete. Brenda didn’t look at me again. She stood up, adjusted her knitted blue shawl, and slid the strap of her purse over her shoulder.

She left the cheap silver watch sitting on the wooden table, right next to the half-eaten basket of biscuits.

“Have a nice anniversary, Gary,” she said. She turned and walked toward the exit, her steps light and unhurried. Tracy followed her, leaving the coffee pot on the server station.

I was left sitting alone by the stone fireplace. The waitress from the other section eventually brought the bill. It was forty-two dollars and sixteen cents. I paid it with the joint visa card, but when the receipt printed out, there was a red line across the bottom. The card had been declined. Brenda had canceled the account at noon.

I had to pay with the forty dollars of emergency cash I kept in my glove box. The drive home in the Buick LeSabre was the quietest thirty minutes of my life. The house was completely empty when I walked in. She had taken her clothes, her sewing machine, and the dog. The only thing left on the kitchen counter was a manila envelope from Howard’s law firm.