On my wedding night, my husband told me I should not have married him.
That was not exactly how Daniel phrased it.
His words were quieter.
Worse.
“If you knew what I really did, you’d take that ring off right now.”
I stood beside him on the hotel terrace with music drifting through the
open ballroom doors.
My wedding dress brushed the stone beneath my shoes.
Guests laughed inside.
Someone had started another toast.
Daniel looked like a man attending a funeral.
“What did you do?”
He stared into the darkness.
“I should’ve told you before today.”
“Told me what?”
“I was selfish.”
His voice cracked.
“I kept telling myself that if enough time passed, maybe it wouldn’t
matter anymore.”
My stomach tightened.
“What wouldn’t matter?”
He opened his mouth.
Then his knees buckled.
I caught his arm.
“Daniel.”
He slid against the wall.
He had been drinking all evening.
