Shelly entered the bedroom looking anywhere but at me. She wore her favorite pink bathrobe. Last night she had been naked underneath. After what I did, I doubted that was true now.

“I’m taking Taco for his morning walk,” she said, stepping into the master bedroom closet and out of sight.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Please don’t go. We need to talk”

When she reappeared, wearing loose-fitting jeans and a baggy sweatshirt with Brown University on the front, I expected to see anger. Instead, I caught a glimpse of uncertainty, as if she was in a trance.

“I’m embarrassed and confused,” I said, trying to get up the nerve to enter into a real conversation. “I don’t know a Jackie. You’ve told me I talk in my sleep occasionally, but I can’t explain why I yelled the name of someone I don’t know. Plus, I don’t understand why you’re being so dispassionate. You must think I cheated on you.”

We stayed quiet for what seemed like a fortnight. Shelly sat on the end of the bed with her back to me and broke the silence.

“It wasn’t you.”

“What?”

“You weren’t the one who yelled her name,” Shelly said with a library voice. “I was.”

I let the revelation settle in. This time, I was the one in a trance, struggling to process what I’d just heard. I lifted Shelly’s chin, wiped a tear from her cheek, and cuddled her in my arms. After what I thought was an appropriate time, I asked, “Think Jackie’d be interested in a threesome?”

I barely escaped the bed alive as a barrage of pillow and stuffed animal bombs assaulted me while I raced naked to the bathroom.