Eight months after the divorce, my phone buzzed with his name. “Come to my wedding,” he said, smug as ever. “She’s pregnant—unlike you.” I froze, fingers tightening around the hospital sheet.

she laughed, the sound filled the empty spaces of my heart.

The afternoon mail sat on the coffee table. On top was a thick legal packet from Marcus’s office, detailed with the final, unappealable rulings from the courts.

I picked it up and flipped through the pages, a quiet sense of triumph settling deep into my bones.

Fiona had accepted a plea deal. continue reading …