Part 2: I discovered my husband was having an affair with my best friend while we were all on the same airplane—and neither of them knew I was there. Instead of confronting them, I sent a small, beautifully wrapped gift to their seats.

"Why?"

Dawson sat down heavily in the chair beside my mother's hospital bed.

Then he said something that made the room seem to tilt.

"Megan and I had a son four years ago."

I stared at him.

"What?"

His eyes filled.

"His name was Elliot."

I remembered.

Of course I remembered.

Four years earlier, Megan had gone into premature labor while Dawson was away on a work assignment. He'd rushed home, but by the time he arrived, she told him the baby hadn't survived.

There had been a small memorial.

White flowers.

A tiny urn.

Dawson had stood beside Megan with his arms wrapped around her, looking like a man who'd forgotten how to breathe.

Ryan and I attended.

I remembered Ryan holding Dawson's shoulder while the minister spoke.

I remembered thinking how fortunate we were to have our two healthy children.

And I remembered promising myself I would never complain about another sleepless night.