On Sunday afternoon Sarah Evers and her husband, William, went to the ballet. On Monday morning, Sarah Evers called her lawyer to tell her she wanted to file for divorce. Sarah and her husband had the same good seats for twenty years, third row center. Sarah had seen Swan Lake more times than she could remember— it was one of her favorites. William had grown tired of story ballets and would have preferred to stay home and watch football. He went to the ballet to preserve domestic tranquility. They had a heavy lunch before the ballet, and midway through the first act, William’s head lolled against his chest, and his breathing became rough and choppy but not loud enough to disturb the people sitting around them. Thank God he isn’t snoring, Sarah thought. She let him sleep — he had a long and busy week at the office. He started to mumble, the words slurred like a late-night drunk, but she could make them out. She had always had good hearing. The applause at the end of Act 1 woke William from his slumber. He got up to go to the bathroom. Sarah sat in her seat. She said nothing and pretended to read the program when he returned.

At the second intermission she asked, “The new hire at the firm in contracts, tell me her name again.”

“Golden,” William said, “Julie Golden. Why do you ask?”

“Her name was floating in my head. I just couldn’t remember it.”

They ate dinner in their usual silence. Sarah said she could feel a migraine coming on and went to bed early. She was sure of what she had heard. Fuck me, Julie, fuck me. She lay in the darkness, thinking of the call she would make in the morning.