It had been a month since my divorce from Michael was finalized. His decision, entirely unexpected. I didn’t fight it—sometimes people fall out of love. I let him go, and we hadn’t seen each other since.
But on an ordinary weekday, while picking up cat food for my clinic’s newest rescue, a flash of white in the parking lot caught my eye. A pristine sports car, parked between two faded sedans. The sleek logo on the hood was unfamiliar, but before I could place it, the driver’s door swung open, and my heart stopped.
Michael stepped out, but he
wasn’t the man I remembered. The husband I knew wore khakis from clearance racks and whatever T-shirt he could find. He worked long hours as a grocery store cashier, barely making more than minimum wage.
Leave a Reply