And one said, “Is not this Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?” So David sent messengers and took her, and she came to him, and he lay with her. Then she returned to her house. And the woman conceived, and she sent and told David, “I am pregnant.”

Then David ordered that Uriah, a warrior faithful to him, be sent to the battlefront on a dangerous mission. He was killed and Bathsheba went to live with the king in his palace.

David—the great example, the idol for generations, the fearless warrior—not only committed adultery, he also ordered the murder of his rival, betraying his loyalty and goodwill.

I don’t need biblical justification for adultery or murder. But I remember this story from my school days—the same school where Jacob and I kissed in the spring.

Those kisses had to wait many years to be repeated, and when it finally happened, it was exactly as I hadn’t imagined. It seemed sordid, selfish, sinister. But I loved it anyway and wanted it to happen again, as soon as possible.

Jacob and I meet four times in two weeks. The nervousness gradually disappears. We have both normal and unconventional intercourse. I’m still not able to live out my fantasy of tying him up and making him kiss me down below until I can’t bear the pleasure, but I’ll get there.

LITTLE by little, Marianne loses her importance. Yesterday, I was with her husband again, and that shows just how insignificant she is in all this. I no longer want Mme König to find out or even think of divorce, because this way I can have the pleasure of a lover without having to give up everything I’ve accomplished with hard work and self-control: my children, my husband, my job, and this house.

What will I do with the cocaine I’ve hidden, the cocaine that could be found at any moment? I spent a lot of money on it. I can’t try to resell it; I would be one step away from the Vandoeuvres prison. I vowed to never use it again. I could give it as a gift to the people I know who like it, but my reputation could be affected, or, worse, they might ask if I can get them more.

Achieving my dream of getting Jacob in bed took me to great heights and then brought me back down to reality. I discovered that although I thought it was love, what I am feeling is merely a crush, destined to end at any moment. And I’m not the least bit concerned with maintaining it: I already got the adventure, the pleasure of the transgression, the new sexual experiences, the joy. All without feeling a drop of remorse. I am giving myself the present that I deserve after behaving for so many years.

I am at peace. At least I was until today.

After so many days of sleeping well, I feel like the dragon has again emerged from the abyss from where it had been exiled.

AM I the problem or is it the coming of Christmas? This is the time of year that depresses me the most—and I’m not referring to a hormonal disorder or the absence of certain chemicals in the body. I am glad that things aren’t as over-the-top in Geneva as they are in other countries. I spent the holidays in New York once. Everywhere there were lights, tinsel, carolers, decorated windows, reindeer, bells, fake snowflakes, trees with ornaments in every size and color, smiles glued on everyone’s faces … And me, absolutely sure that I was a freak and the only one to feel completely alien. Although I’ve never taken LSD, I imagine you would need a triple dose of it to see all those colors.

The most we see here is a hint of decoration on the main street, most likely for the tourists. (Buy! Take something from Switzerland to your children!) But I still haven’t been by there yet, so this strange feeling can’t be Christmas. There isn’t a single Santa Claus hanging from a chimney, reminding us we should be happy the whole month of December.

I toss and turn in bed, as usual. My husband sleeps, as usual. Tonight we made love. This has become more frequent, I don’t know if it’s to cover up my affair or because my libido has been heightened. The fact is that I’ve been more sexually excited by him. He doesn’t ask me questions when I get home late, and he doesn’t show that he’s jealous. Except for the first time, when I had to rush straight to the bathroom, I follow Jacob’s instructions to eliminate all traces of odors and stained clothing. Now I always bring an extra pair of panties, take a shower at the hotel, and enter the elevator with flawless makeup. I don’t show any nervousness or raise suspicions. Twice I ran into people I know, and I made sure to say hello and leave them asking: “Is she meeting someone?” It’s good for the ego and absolutely safe. After all, if they’re in the elevator of a hotel in the same city where they live, they’re just as guilty as I am.

I fall asleep and then awake again a few minutes later. Victor Frankenstein created his monster, and Dr. Jekyll allowed his to come to the surface. This still doesn’t frighten me, but perhaps I need to go ahead and lay down a few rules for my behavior.

I have a side that is honest, kind, caring, professional, and capable of keeping my cool at difficult moments, especially during interviews, when some subjects prove aggressive or evade my questions.

But I am discovering a more spontaneous, impatient, wild side, one that is not confined to the hotel room where I meet with Jacob and one that is beginning to affect my daily routine. I am more easily irritated when a salesperson chats with a customer even though there’s a line. Now I go to the supermarket only out of necessity, and I’ve already stopped looking at prices and expiration dates. When someone says something I don’t agree with, I make a point of responding. I discuss politics. I defend movies everyone hates and criticize those everyone loves. I love surprising people with ridiculous and out-of-place opinions. In short, I’ve stopped being the reserved woman I always was.

People have started to notice. “You’re different!” they say. It’s one step away from “You’re hiding something,” which soon turns into “You only need to hide if you’re doing something you shouldn’t.”

I may just be paranoid, of course. But today I feel like two different people.

All David needed to do was order his men to bring him that woman. He didn’t owe anyone an explanation. And when trouble arose, he sent her husband to the battlefront. It’s different in my case. As discreet as the Swiss are, there are two situations when they become unrecognizable.

The first is in traffic. If someone lingers a fraction of a second to start his car after the light turns green, we immediately start to honk. If someone changes lanes, even with a turn signal flashing, he will always get a dirty look in the rearview mirror.

The second concerns the dangerous event of change, whether it’s our house, job, or behavior. Here, everything is stable, everyone behaves as expected. Please don’t try to be different or suddenly reinvent yourself, because you’ll be threatening our whole society. This country worked hard to reach its “finished” state; we don’t want to go back to being “under renovation.”

MY ENTIRE family and I are at the place where William, Victor Frankenstein’s brother, was murdered. For centuries, this was a swamp. After Calvin’s ruthless hands turned Geneva into a respectable city, the sick were brought here, usually to die of hunger and exposure, and thus keeping the city from being infected by any epidemics.

Plainpalais is huge, the only spot in the city center with virtually no greenery. In winter, the wind is bone-chilling. In summer, the sun makes us drip with sweat. It’s ridiculous. But since when have things needed a good reason to exist?