They lived together long enough to have two children, but that wasn't enough to become truly close to each other. Their union was not a love story, but a carefully constructed composition, a beautiful picture that was pleasant to look at from the outside. In the eyes of those around them, they were the perfect family: a well-kept house in the suburbs, happy children, and a father who came home in the evening wearing a suit that smelled of cigar smoke and power. For Don's colleagues, this picture served as confirmation that life could be flawless — like the cover of a magazine that everyone looks at, but no one thinks about what lies behind it.

The perfect cover. That's exactly how you could describe their family life. Evenings at the dinner table, smiles in photographs, the ringing laughter of children who were still too young to sense the falsehood. But inside this setting, everyone lived their own separate lives. Almost no one knew that behind this beautiful facade, Don sought solace in the arms of other women. He was an actor playing the role of husband and father, but every time the curtain fell, he sought escape from this performance in other people's beds.

Perhaps the only one who saw at least part of the truth was his secretary, Peggy. And so their family remained what it was intended to be: a showcase for the world, a perfect illustration of the advertising slogan about happiness. Inside, however, this showcase was empty. They were a family only in photographs, in the eyes of neighbors and colleagues. In reality, they were strangers.