When dessert came, the waiters dimmed the lights. Candles flickered across the cake, and the room sang. For a brief, fragile moment, it almost felt real—until Vivian rose again, that familiar envelope in hand.
Ryan adjusted his phone to capture my face.
I opened the envelope.
Divorce papers.
The silence that followed was the sound of triumph—for them. They wanted tears, pleading, maybe even a scene.
Instead, I picked up the pen and signed. Calm. Complete. Final.
Then, before anyone could react, I reached into my purse and pulled out my own envelope—plain white, no ribbon, no theatrics.
“I have something to share, too,” I said.
Continue reading…