I returned from my business trip sooner than planned and by sunset I understood that my marriage had ended long before I stepped through the front doorMy name is Ana Serrano. I was thirty-four, married for nine years, and until that Thursday I believed the hardest thing Miguel and I had endured was infertility. We had made it through clinics that smelled of antiseptic and fragile hope. We had made it through two miscarriages, one surgery, three failed treatment cycles, and the kind of quiet sorrow that settles into a home and never seems to leave. I thought all that pain had either strengthened us or at least made us truthful.