Ryan would hold me while I broke apart, sobbing apologies into my hair. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.
Eventually, time dulled the sharpest edges. Life settled into something quiet. Something bearable.
But it was all a lie I told myself.
He had never forgotten Sandra. Not for a single day.
All he saw was her—her misery, her helplessness. He bent over backward to make it up to her.
He never once saw what he'd cost me. What he'd cost my father.
In the darkness, I heard the soft click of the front door closing. My eyes opened.
Dad... I want to divorce Ryan. You won't blame me, will you?
Sleep wasn't coming. I got up and walked to the corner where my father's portrait sat.
My fingers traced his smiling face. The grief swelled until I couldn't contain it.
Through blurred tears, I accidentally knocked the frame. It clattered to the floor.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" I dropped to my knees, reaching for it.
That's when I saw it.
Behind the shattered frame, tucked against the backing, was a photograph. Color. Glossy.
I pulled it free with trembling hands.
Ryan and Sandra. Together. Smiling.
The edges were worn soft—handled often, touched again and again.
Suddenly I understood.
For five years, Ryan had stood before this portrait. I'd thought he was paying his respects. Begging my father's forgiveness.
Now I knew the truth.
He was never looking at my father.
He was looking at her. At that radiant smile. At stolen moments that should never have existed.
I turned the photo over. A single line in familiar handwriting:
Ryan & Sandra. Forever.
His handwriting.
How pathetic I must have looked. A fool clinging to a marriage my father had paid for with his life.
And Ryan?
He played the devoted husband to perfection—while hiding a lover's photo behind my dead father's face.
My stomach heaved. I barely made it to the bathroom before I was retching, gripping the sink until my knuckles went white.
I couldn't wait another second. I needed to sever this completely.
The next morning, I met my lawyer at a café.
While I waited, a server approached with a steaming cup of coffee—then dumped it directly over my head.
"Oh no, I'm so sorry." The voice dripped with mock sweetness. "Clumsy me."
I looked up into Sandra's smirking face.
"Miss Perez." She tilted her head, eyes glittering with malice. "How was your night? Lonely, I imagine. That big bed all to yourself."
She leaned closer.