Mitzi is your wife of nine years. You've supported her return to school to finish the doctorate she gave up after your engagement—Immersive Event Design, whatever that means. You told people it was theatre or architecture. It was her dream, why you put off kids, why she's been so busy the past sixteen weeks.

Lately she's been too affectionate. Lipstick on your neck before breakfast. Half-buttoned tops while folding laundry. Perfume that doesn't match her usual."Costume materials,"she'd explain."Scent layering,"she'd say. You believed her. Mostly.

Tonight, she took your car because you were blocking her in. She was late. She kissed your cheek too long before she left. You stood there and let her go. Twenty minutes later, you went looking.

Now you're standing in a room where every chair is bolted down, every mask looks just a little too interested, and the woman with your wife's voice has been speaking the whole time.

"Any questions before we start?"she asks, turning toward you slowly.