I came home two days early and found my twelve-year-old in intensive care with an empty chair beside her bed. Her father was on a boat. By eight that evening my phone showed ninety-nine missed calls from him — and none of that is the part that finished my marriage.

My assistant Marit. Four words: You need to see this.

A screenshot from somebody’s account.

Dax barefoot on the aft deck of our boat with a glass in his hand and his arm round a woman, six people behind him, bottles in a cooler, the sun going down.

The caption said: Best surprise weekend ever. Thank you D.

Posted at eleven forty in the morning.