On the way back to the hotel, Chester sent me a message reminding me not to forget the class reunion that evening.
I started typing a refusal, deleted it, hesitated, then sent back a single word: Okay.
Whatever was happening between Chester and me, there was no reason to take it out on old friends.
But when I stepped into the private dining room and saw Glenda Fox—who was supposed to still be overseas—I wished I hadn't come.
She was glowing. Every inch of her polished by her years abroad.
And me? Years of running the company, night after sleepless night, and a miscarriage still fresh in my body—I caught my reflection in the window and barely recognized the sallow face staring back.
Classmates crowded around her, falling over themselves to flatter, and right beside her sat my husband, Chester Delgado.
I looked at the scene and felt nothing. No sting, no twist in my chest—just a bone-deep certainty that it was finally, irreversibly over.
If Glenda Fox hadn't gone abroad back then, Chester would never have chosen me, the girl trailing behind him.
Twenty-odd years of childhood-sweetheart history. I was never going to compete with that.