At our fifth wedding anniversary party, my husband's childhood sweetheart, Charlotte Shaw, issued a challenge with a tipsy smirk. "You lost at Truth or Dare, so I dare you to post a photo of the two of us on your Instagram with the caption, 'You're always the one I love the most.'" Then she gave my shoulder a condescending pat. "Elena, it's just a game. Don't take it personally." Before I could respond, my five-year-old daughter suddenly pointed at the high slit in Charlotte's dress. "Ms. Shaw, why do you have my daddy's name tattooed on your thigh? And he has your name, 'Charlotte,' tattooed on his chest." A deafening silence fell over the room. My husband, Adrian Pembroke's face drained of color. He clamped a hand over his chest, his voice trembling. "Well, she's just kidding. She doesn't know what she's saying." I ignored his panic and lowered my gaze to my phone. The flight confirmation for the overseas job I had just accepted was still on the screen. I calmly typed a few words. Elena: Widowed, traveling with one daughter. Two tickets, please.