If someone had told me five years ago that I would one day sit through my ex-husband’s wedding to my best friend, I probably would have laughed. Or cried.
Maybe both.
But what I wouldn’t have done, what I couldn’t have imagined, was how quietly it would all begin. And how ordinary it would all seem at first.
There was no dramatic reveal. I didn’t find her signature lipstick on his collar. There were no late-night phone calls. It was just the slow unraveling of trust, one small detail at a time.
Mark and I were married for almost ten years. We had two gorgeous children, Emily, eight, and Jacob, five. We had a life that looked, from the outside, exactly how it was supposed to.
Stable. Familiar. And built on love.