Halfway through checking into a hotel in Glasgow, the receptionist asked, "And is your wife joining you later?" There is no wife. Never has been. Instead of saying this like a functioning adult, something in my brain panicked and produced, "Hopefully." She gave me an extremely sympathetic look. Then the room wasn't ready, so while waiting in the lobby, another employee brought over two complimentary glasses of prosecco. "For when she arrives." Now there was an accidental missing-wife narrative happening. An hour later I came downstairs for dinner alone. The first receptionist saw me and very gently asked, "Still nothing?" At this point correcting them felt somehow cruel. "Still nothing." At breakfast the next morning, a waiter silently put an extra croissant opposite me. Checking out, the receptionist squeezed my hand and said, "You deserve someone who shows up." The taxi driver outside asked how my stay had been. "Apparently," I said, "I've just survived a divorce."