Certainty is searing, but gnawing suspicion is its own kind of agony. When we begin to suspect that our beloved is duplicitous, we become relentless scavengers, sniffing out desire’s carelessly strewn clothes and clues. Sophisticated surveillance experts, we track the minute changes in his face, the indifference in her voice, the unfamiliar smell of his shirt, her lackluster kiss. We tally up the slightest incongruities.
