There’s a moment in the WNYC podcast Death, Sex & Money that hasn’t left my mind since I heard it. It’s from a July 2014 episode in which host Anna Sale talks to sex columnist Dan Savage about the prevalence of cheating in long-term relationships. Savage argues that infidelity is a common occurrence that most couples should prepare to face at some point in the lifetime of their relationship. This idea doesn’t sit well with Sale, who is in a committed, monogamous relationship herself. In a brief role reversal, Savage challenges his interviewer to think beyond her fears and consider cheating a likely reality that will affect even her partnership. He urges her to consider: What would she or her partner do if the other were unfaithful?The research and the data shows that roughly 50% of men and 50% of women in long-term relationships at some point will cheat, and those 50% of men are not [necessarily] married to those 50% of women, so it will touch almost all committed, monogamous relationships. So what’s going to be your reaction if and when that happens to you?I know, I mean read you, Dan Savage, and you make me uncomfortable, because intellectually I understand all this. I get desire. I get that it’s not rational and I get that it’s a real thing but it — I don’t know what I would do with the hurt. I have a really difficult time seeing a way outside of it being okay. Or seeing a way for it to be okay.Here’s the — my advice would be if and when it happens — you know when people always say, you know, when they talk about the people they love most in their lives, “I would take the bullet for this person, I would walk through fire for this person.” That’s hurt. You’re saying I would hurt for this person in a really profound and life-threatening way. I would take a bullet. I would walk through fire. Infidelity, when people believe in monogamy and monogamy is what they want, infidelity is that bullet.My mind hung on Sale’s admission: “I don’t know what I would do with the hurt.”I don’t know, either. I’m very happy in a committed relationship myself, and considering a future infidelity leaves me not just terrified, but dumbfounded. I can imagine the sting of discovery, and the subsequent rage that, for me, would surely come with ease. And I have some frame of reference for the gut-gnawing sadness, but I don’t know what comes after that. When it comes to infidelity, I have the tools for utter breakdown and even tacit acceptance, but where is the common, fleshed-out social script for moving forward?I considered this last weekend when taking in Beyoncé’s magnum opus, Lemonade. In it, Beyoncé, or some characterization of her, struggles to survive the transgressions of her husband, Jay-Z (or some characterization of him). While some believe Lemonade is a reflection of the super-couple’s real-life drama, others see it as a meditation on survival, captured through the lens of infidelity. Either way, it’s an impressive artistic statement that places her real-life marriage at the center of its visual and musical narratives — a brave move for any old human, let alone the world’s greatest living megastar.Lemonade’s visuals and music were incredible and especially resonant with me as a Black woman, but its emotionality similarly stunned me. Beyoncé grieves her broken marriage in 11 steps reminiscent of the Kübler-Ross model , moving from Intuition to Redemption and experiencing every possibility in between.The early stages are tinged with wrath, and they feel familiar and satisfying. In the section entitled “Denial,” Beyoncé struts down a city sidewalk, resplendent in a marigold evening gown that recalls Oshun , the Yoruba deity of love, and she takes a baseball bat to everything within reach. In the next phase, “Anger,” she armors up, acquiring a squad of other badass women, a plump fur coat, cornrows (a protective hairstyle), and at least a few pounds of gold jewelry. Beyoncé snarls at her beloved, “If you try this shit again / you gon' lose your wife,” before chucking her wedding ring at the viewer.