The Wages of Infidelity
It is a Sunday night at my ex-wife’s house, and I’m getting ready to say goodbye to the kids after a happy, rough-and-tumble afternoon. As I prepare to leave, my six-year-old son goes to the bookcase and pulls out a slim, black volume, clutching it tightly to his chest. I ask to see what he’s holding, and he hands it over, but not before kissing the image on the front. It’s a photo album, one of those custom-made jobs you order online. This album is a collection of photos from our family trip to Israel in 2015, and the cover photo that my son kissed features him, his older sister, his mother, and me all beaming at the camera.
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