The envelope was cream-colored and expensive; the kind my ex-husband Garrett said we could never afford. But it wasn’t a bill, a warning, or another reminder of my ruin.
It was a wedding invitation.
Garrett was marrying Tessa, the woman he left me for four years ago, and he wanted me there to see him start over. Inside was a handwritten note in the same neat script he’d once used to write me love letters and then to sign our divorce papers.
No hard feelings. The children needed to see their parents move on. Happy.
No hard feelings.
Not for the infidelity. Not for the divorce. Not for how he took almost everything and left me with $700 a month, a shattered life, and weekends without being able to spend with my own children.
Then I saw the date.
June 15.
Our anniversary.
He’d chosen our wedding day to marry someone else.
At that moment, I decided I would go, but not as the broken ex-wife he thought he’d left behind. I would walk into that wedding and show him exactly what he’d thrown away.
And I had eighteen months of secrets to help me do it.
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