I turned to him, jaw tight.
“She left me and our daughter five years ago. Her family told me she died. Now here she is, marrying my best friend.”
His face went white. “Tell me that’s not true,” he said to Natalie.
She couldn’t meet his eyes.
He walked away.
The wedding was called off. Her parents appeared like phantoms, ushering her out without a word. Not even a glance at the man she’d left behind — or the child she abandoned.
Picking Up the Pieces Again
Two weeks later, Stefan and I met for a drink.
“She never said she was married,” he muttered, staring at his glass. “Never mentioned a child. I don’t know how I fell for it.”
“You didn’t fall for it,” I said. “You fell for a version of her. We both did.”
He looked up. “Are you okay?”
And for the first time in years, I really considered the question.
I had grieved. I had struggled. But I had also healed. I had built something from the rubble she left behind — not just a career, but a bond with my daughter that no lie could touch.
“I think I am,” I told him. “I finally know it wasn’t me. It was never me.”
Sometimes Closure Comes from the Truth, Not the Person
The truth hurt — more than her leaving, more than her fake death.
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