At the menswear counter of a department store, while I was picking out a gift for our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband Nathaniel Crowe called me on video. I turned on speakerphone. "Honey, it's too big, I can't take it all in one go..." The next second, a porn film–worthy moan spilled out of the phone. There, on the marital bed I shared with my husband Nathaniel, the impoverished student I'd been sponsoring was kneeling on all fours, while my husband pressed up tight against her from behind, thrusting hard. Violent slaps of skin against skin came through the speaker, followed by the girl's coquettish voice. "Professor, between me and your wife, who do you like more?" Nathaniel's tone was even, edged with a faint sneer. "You, of course. As for her, she's about as fun in bed as a dead fish." Humiliating, filthy words poured out of the phone. The sales associate behind the counter and the other customers browsing nearby all stared at my phone in shock.