The night before my wedding I heard my maid of honour through the hotel wall saying they'd pour wine on my dress and lose the rings. I recorded four minutes of it with my phone against the connecting door.

I played him four minutes and eleven seconds on a kitchen table.

And my husband of three days listened to all of it, and when it stopped he did not say oh my God and he did not say I'll kill her.

He put his hands flat on that table and he said: "Right."

And I said: "Right?"

And Jory Hale said: "Freya. I need to tell you about November."

The fourteenth of November last year. Four months before.

There was a thing for his work at the Lyle and I did not go because I had a cold, and Nadia was there because she works for the same group two floors down and always has, which is how I met her in 2019.

She asked him to share a taxi. He said yes, because why would you not.

And in that taxi she put it to him. Not subtly and not drunkenly enough to be deniable. He has given me the words and I am not putting them down.