Decades ago I had a friend who made a killing in the stock market. Subsequently, he and his wife decided to purchase a house in a lavish neighborhood in Los Angeles, what was cause for celebration and the wickedest housewarming party ever, so the invitation said.

My fiancé and I flew in, and by the time we arrived the party was in full swing, lots of food being served by maids in skimpy uniforms, a live band, alcohol and cocaine on trays.

My fiancé took one look and said, “Take me back to the hotel. I don’t want to be here.”

I laughed. “Relax, will you? Nobody’s going to make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Please?” she begged, but I refused.

Later in the evening, with scads of people mingling and the house growing stuffier by the minute, our host announced he was moving the party outside. He flipped a switch, and an exterior wall rolled back to reveal a swimming pool bathed in pulsing lights.

After the applause ended, we stripped to our underwear and jumped in. I glanced and saw my fiancé sitting by herself in a chair near the front door.

An hour later my friend’s wife asked if I’d help her retrieve another keg of beer from the poolroom. We stepped into the darkened room, and she locked the door behind us. The pool lights shone through a single, marbled window. Suddenly, she turned, shoved me against the wall and kissed me. I reciprocated. Minutes later, as we rolled on the floor, we heard the doorknob rattle. We froze as someone tried again and again. They pressed their face against the marbled glass, and I was certain I recognized my fiancé’s silhouette, swore she looked directly at us before leaving. We emerged with the keg minutes later, and I was relieved to find her chatting with other guests at the bar. She touched my arm as we walked past.

I jumped back in the pool and continued to party. Early the next morning, as guests began to leave, I looked but couldn’t find her. Someone told me she’d complained of a headache and left shortly after midnight, which irked me considering we’d come together. With the remaining guests either passed out or intoxicated, I eventually called a taxi. When I got to the hotel, our room was empty. I tried to stay awake until she returned, but fell asleep on the couch. When I woke again, it was one o’clock in the afternoon. I called her cellphone repeatedly, but only received her voicemail. Alarmed, I finally called her parent’s house. Her mother answered, and her faltering, whispery voice told me all I needed to know. “For God’s sake, please leave her alone.” I never saw her again. Months after canceling our wedding, I spoke to a friend who told me she’d left the country, flown to Germany to resume her studies. She’d always been interested in bacterial science, which was what she was studying when we met, so maybe she’s a doctor now. I can only hope. I have many memories of past friends and acquaintances, all smiling, laughing, nodding agreeably. With her it’s only a tear-stained face I see, a soul damaged by years of deceit and selfishness. More than anything, I believe in forgiveness.