Our town had an old rule: the bridal convoy must never backtrack.   But on my wedding day, my fiancé, Ryan Mercer, made our entire convoy back up for more than 12 miles just to let Ella Bennett's wedding convoy pass.   I was about to lower the window and ask why when I heard Ryan and his groomsman talking.   "You drove over 60 miles out of your way just to see Ella off on her wedding day. That's dedication. And we're still backing up? Aren't you worried Grace will lose it?"   Ryan kept directing the convoy backward. "Relax. She's waited 10 years for me. No matter how mad she gets, she won't get out of the car and run from the wedding. If my family hadn't been pressuring me, I never would've agreed to marry her so easily. Ella can't marry me, so backing up to see her off is the least I can do to make it up to her."   My bridal bouquet slipped from my hands and fell beneath the seat. A bitter laugh escaped me.   So much for believing all those years of waiting would finally lead to a happy ending. It had all been wishful thinking on my part.   I opened my chat with that man and shared my location.   Grace: Still willing to marry me? Come get me. Now.

On my first day at the new company, I saw my boyfriend, Zayven Ruelle. We'd been in a long-distance relationship for a year. He was pressing a cup of warm milk into Tiffany Vossaine's hand and tearing open the wrapper for her straw. The HR specialist walked me around to introduce me to everyone, and he didn't even look up. "Hi everyone, my name is Lena Velrose." The straw slipped and fell onto the desk. Tiffany followed his gaze over to me, smiled, and asked, "Do you two know each other?" Just the night before, this same man had been asking me what kind of flowers I wanted for our engagement party. He stayed quiet for a few seconds.  "No, we don't," he added in a low voice. "Drink it while it's still warm. If it gets cold, your stomach will start hurting again." I smiled and pulled back the hand I'd started to lift to wave at him. That same evening, I left the group chat that both our families had been planning together for half a year. Before I left, I left a message. Lena: Zayven Ruelle says he doesn't know me. So there's no need for anyone to keep arranging this engagement.

Lily lost a game at the birthday party.   She glanced over at me and grinned. "Let me tell you all a secret. Ryan's stamina is off the charts... We messed around until midnight last night. My knees went completely numb from kneeling for so long, and my back's still aching right now!"   At that instant, I felt as if I'd been struck by lightning.   When she saw my face go dead pale, she clammed up a beat too late, then forced a grin and tried to explain herself.   "Whoa, Hannah, don't get the wrong idea! Ryan and I are just scratching an itch. You're heavily pregnant and it's not easy for you right now, so as a childhood friend of his, I'm just helping him blow off some steam, that's all.   "Relax, we used condoms. No chance of this getting out of hand."   As if something had just occurred to her, she leaned in close to my ear and clicked her tongue. "Then again, Ryan's skills are really something. You're one lucky woman, Hannah!"   My blood boiled, and I slapped her across the face.   "You're saying all this garbage right to my face so brazenly? Have you no shame at all?"   Before Lily could say anything, Ryan was the one who got angry.   He scolded me for being narrow-minded, pointed at the door, and told me to get out.   The second I stepped out, I heard the door slam loudly, followed by Lily's taunting voice.   "Ryan, after that slap, Hannah's totally gonna hold this over your head now."   The whole group was betting I'd come crawling back with my tail between my legs to apologize, and even get down on my knees and beg Ryan for forgiveness.   But they didn't know.   I was done with this rotten, festering marriage.

At the funeral of my client Cecily Riley's father, I saw my husband, who had supposedly been abroad for 3 months. A white carnation was pinned to his lapel as he stood with the family, greeting mourners beside Cecily. When she saw me, she came over, her eyes red-rimmed. "Ms. Hart, thank you for coming." She linked her arm through my husband's. "This is my boyfriend. We were supposed to get engaged next month. It's just a shame Dad didn't live to see it." My husband looked at me, his hand at her waist freezing in place. A few seconds later, he gave me a polite nod. "Ms. Hart." It was as if he weren't the same man who had texted me last night saying it had gotten cold in Nordavia and asking me to send him warmer clothes. Cecily glanced behind me. "Where's your husband? Is he still away on business?" I looked at the white carnation on my husband's lapel and smiled. "He's been dead for a year. Actually, I'm getting ready to remarry."

On Thanksgiving, James drove me home as usual, but once again he chose the longest highway. For one reason only: it passed through the city where the parents of a younger classmate of his from college lived. During our five-year relationship, he didn't just send gifts to her parents on every major holiday. He also ate with them, took walks with them, and even accompanied them to their doctor's appointments—handling everything himself. By the time he finally arrived at my house, Thanksgiving was long over. He would always rush through a meal with my parents, then hurry me out the door with him that same night. I threw countless fits over this, but he would only scold me impatiently, "Nina is a younger classmate of mine from college. I've known her for years. What's wrong with helping her family?" This year, just as he went upstairs, I overheard the neighbors gossiping. "Hasn't Nina broken things off with that man yet?" "How could she? He goes way out of his way every year just to spend Thanksgiving with her." "His poor girlfriend. She still thinks Nina is just a younger classmate of his from college." I stiffened and looked up. On the balcony, Nina—who was supposed to be just a younger classmate of his from college—was hugging James from behind. Then he turned around, leaned down, and kissed her. So he had gone to celebrate the holiday with the woman he loved first, and only visited my parents out of obligation. I turned and left. He had missed my Thanksgiving, and from now on, he would never have to spend another one with me.

In the fifth year of our marriage, I realized I might not love Julian anymore. When he stayed out all night, I stopped hiring a team of private investigators to scour the city for him. When he came home smelling of perfume, I stopped pinning him down in the bathtub and dousing him with rubbing alcohol. Even in bed, the passion was gone. I thought it over for 2 days. Once I was sure I truly didn't love him anymore, I took the divorce agreement to his company. But outside his top-floor office, I heard his best friend Leo say, "Julian, how's that drug I got you? Working out? Vivian's stopped hounding you, right?" "Yeah." "That stuff wasn't cheap. I got it on the black market. A normal person takes it for a month and stops caring about anything. You've been dosing her for 3 years. She's basically a walking corpse by now. I bet you could drop a divorce agreement in front of her right now and she wouldn't even blink. Sophie's coming back... If Vivian hadn't gotten in the way, you two wouldn't have lost all those years. You finally made it." As I listened, my sluggish mind finally began to process what they were saying. So Julian had done this to me deliberately. Then why did he later say he'd been wrong?