We all think we know our spouses, don’t we? Even the little things like how they take their coffee, which side of the bed they prefer, and the way they hum off-key in the shower.

After ten years of marriage, I thought I knew everything about Henry. His dreams, his fears, even the way his voice changed slightly when he was hiding something as trivial as eating the last cookie from the jar.

“No secrets between us,” he’d promised on our wedding day. “Not even a headache.”