I called my husband 30 times to say his mom was critical, but he was on an island with his mistress.
“Stop calling me like a lunatic, Rosalyn, because I am drowning in critical board meetings,” my husband’s irritated voice echoed through the speaker of my phone, slicing through the quiet stillness of our living room. Underneath the thin layer of his fake annoyance, I could clearly hear the gentle rhythm of ocean waves crashing against…