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She waited. He didn’t want to tell her anything else, mostly because he still didn’t understand what he could say that wouldn’t make him seem like all the women who had told him their stories. They’d always seemed like such victims. The way they would talk about the betrayals that led to hurt and t…

They lay on the carpet in her living room, under a top sheet, staring at the ceiling and talking. Her parents had emigrated to Paris from Iran right before she was born. Her family had moved to the U.S. when she was twelve. Then, when she was nineteen, her family moved to Queens. Her father sold ve…

Having an unconscious patient was like talking to someone on the phone for hours before ever seeing them: It was hard to reconcile that they hadn’t been what you pictured, and your brain, having never seen the person, corrected for them to be more of what you wished they were. Toby had pictured som…

It was hard for Toby to pinpoint exactly when he’d noticed the change in her. Yes, she spoke to her subordinates like they were pieces of shit, but that was the culture at Alfooz & Lichtenstein—that was how they taught their employees to survive, or something. Toby would express surprise when he he…

“Why didn’t you tell me about this when it happened?”

There were several possible acceptable answers to this for Toby: that she didn’t take it seriously, that she didn’t want to hurt Toby, that she barely registered it the minute it happened, so in love was she with her husband—all these would h…