Hours before my son’s wedding, I walked into my living room and saw something that shattered twenty-five years of marriage in a single heartbeat.
My husband, Franklin, was kissing my son’s fiancée—Madison—with a passion that made my stomach twist. Her hands were tangled in his shirt, his fingers in her hair. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t confusion. It was betrayal in its purest form.
For a moment I couldn’t breathe. The taste of metal flooded my mouth. Today was supposed to be Elijah’s happiest day. Instead, I was staring at the destruction of our family.
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