For twenty-six years, I had trusted my husband, Mark Ellison, completely. Every summer, he spent three days fishing at Loon Lake with his longtime friends Dave, Ray, and Tommy. But when he returned from his latest trip, something felt different. He barely spoke during dinner, avoided my eyes, and seemed unusually nervous. Then I noticed a pale band around his left ring finger, exactly where a wedding ring would sit. Mark hadn’t worn his ring in twelve years because of an old workplace injury. When I asked about the mark, he claimed it came from holding a fishing rod. I knew that explanation made no sen…Continue Reading
