My coffee was halfway to my lips when I stopped completely on the front steps.

My husband’s car was covered in women’s lingerie.

Bras hung from both side mirrors.

Pieces of lace were scattered across the hood as though someone had deliberately created the strangest art display imaginable.

A bright red bra was looped around one windshield wiper like a flag.

For several seconds, I simply stood there.

A few neighbors were already outside doing what people do when they desperately want to stare while pretending they aren’t.

Across the street, a woman walking her dog had slowed almost to a stop.

“What the hell?” I whispered.

The front door opened behind me.

Marcus hurried outside, still trying to pull on one shoe.

“Danielle, did you move my charger from—”

Then he saw the car.

He stopped.

And I watched his expression change.

Even now, that is the part I remember most clearly.