Betrayal is everywhere you turn. And most of the time, it’s so boring, no one would ever bother to write about it: the coat that slid from the hanger and lies wrinkled at the bottom of your closet; two tiny bodies that succumbed to starvation after his assurance that he checks the traps daily; coffee and doughnuts and a hearty thank-you for the repair guy who took his sweet-ass time—the one you berated me for calling. The apologies show up now and again: when the evidence is so compelling there’s no point in denial. Then there are the friends who…