The footage began with my husband slumped in his recliner, scrolling his phone while the girls watched cartoons. For six minutes, nothing happened. Then the baby began to cry. My husband glanced over, turned up the television, and went back to his screen. My oldest climbed out of her seat, walked to the playpen, and patted her brother’s head until he quieted. My chest tightened, and I leaned against the counter.

At minute eleven, my husband stood, walked to the kitchen, and I watched him pour a glass of wine and lift his phone to his ear. “She is in the shower,” he said, laughing. “Yes, come now, the kids are fine.” My heart began to pound. Then the front door opened on screen, and a woman I had never seen walked in, kissing him as if she had done it a hundred times.