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It was 10:30 p.m. when the phone rang. I'd fallen asleep waiting for my husband, Michael, to return home from a long day at work. I answered the phone and heard Michael say, "I'm in jail. I need you to come get me out."

"You're in jail?" I asked, now wide awake.

"Yes," he responded.

I waited for him to tell me more, but he was silent. My mind raced through a million scenarios, when finally Michael said, "I've been arrested for soliciting a prostitute." That was a scenario I would have never considered.

My heart felt crushed and a lump formed in my throat as I sat in silence hoping I'd misunderstood what he said. "I need you to bail me out as soon as you can," he continued, assuming it was my responsibility to free him from his consequence. Michael's bail was more than $300, and the police had impounded his new truck as well.

Since we'd moved only recently to Virginia from North Carolina and hadn't had the opportunity to meet a lot of neighbors, I had to call people I barely knew to come watch my children and to drive me to the police station. I was humiliated and overcome with shock, disbelief, and confusion. I'd loved and been married to this man for four years. Michael would never do anything like this, I reasoned. We just had a baby three months ago! We had a perfect life. He was devoted to his family and me. He worked hard and was a great provider. He went to work and came home. He spent his evenings working in our yard or playing with our three children. We were involved in our church. We loved each other passionately and had great sex. We shared our dreams and talked about growing old together. Everything we'd created together seemed so real and amazing.

Yet now I was on my way to a police station to get Michael out of jail.

I talked to the police when I arrived at the station and they explained that Michael was involved in a sting operation: He'd approached an undercover policewoman. They had him on videotape—and there was no doubt it was him.

I paid the bail and processed the paperwork for his release; then I returned home without him. I sat in the living room with the lights off and contemplated what was happening to us.

I grew up in church and I'd always believed God would provide for me. I felt that no matter what happened, it wasn't my place to question God. Yet I couldn't help but wonder, Why had this happened to me? Who was this man I married? This was the man I trusted, the man who was supposed to love and protect me. Instead, he'd hurt and betrayed me.

Finally Michael arrived home. He came into the living room and wept as he expressed his remorse. All I wanted to know was, "Why?" But he had no answers that satisfied me. He made up a story of how this girl approached him and how she just needed money. He said he didn't know what he was thinking. Then he said he'd pulled into a bank to withdraw money, and when he drove out of the parking lot, a girl was standing at the exit.

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