I slotted my key into our apartment door, took a breath, went inside and found Carl, my husband, waiting in his robe. He was gazing at me with an inquisitive look on his face.

He studied me silently for a full minute, while I tried not to fidget. It was late. I’d been out. But I hadn’t told him exactly where I was going.

Finally, he shook his head, then broke into a laugh before admitting, “God, Fiona — I just can’t tell!”

I laughed, too. This was the little contest we had at the end of these nights, when I returned home and my darling husband tried to guess whether or not I’d had sex with another man.

Our laughter was the ultimate indicator that we played this game without jealousy. No marriage fouls were committed. This was our agreed-upon fun. Once... Read More