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I had been traveling for two weeks, and I barely made it through the office doors before the receptionist handed me a gold embossed invitation. The sender was Emily Lane, one of the assistants at the firm. The card read: [You are cordially invited to celebrate the marriage of Emily Lane and Edward Grant.] I stood there with a single thought turning over in my head. Edward Grant was my husband. I dug out my phone and called him. "So you're getting married?" I asked. He let three seconds of silence go by before he answered. "Where are you?" He offered no explanation and no denial, only a question about where I was. I smiled, slid the invitation under the glass on his desk, and walked out. He wanted to know where I was. I wanted to know how he planned to explain that card.