“What about this message where she says you will be hers in two weeks,” I asked while holding his gaze, and he rubbed his forehead before blurting out words that cracked something deeper inside me.
“Please do not ruin the wedding,” he said desperately, adding that the guests had already booked flights and his parents were stressed and the venue was paid for, then he whispered, “Just get through the ceremony and we can deal with everything later.”
I realized in that moment he was not begging for forgiveness but asking for cooperation in a performance that protected his image, and something inside my chest went cold and sharp like glass forming around a broken promise.
Without yelling or crying I walked past him into my office, closed the door quietly, opened a blank document, and began making a list that included packing essentials, calling my best friend Rachel Turner, canceling my share of the wedding arrangements, and writing a short letter that would end a chapter I no longer recognized as my life.