At exactly 9:30 on Thursday night, Robert carried another half-empty trash bag through our back door, and this time I followed him. After 29 years of marriage, I knew something was wrong because my husband had always treated taking out the garbage like a personal punishment. Yet for four nights straight, he had volunteered for the chore and disappeared for nearly 15 minutes. Staying in the shadows, I watched him pass our bins and walk toward an old garage two houses away. He opened the bag, removed a brown package, and handed it to a younger woman with bright blue hair. Then she asked the question that made my stomach drop: “She still doesn’t know?”