And I wanted Daniel to understand that the woman he had underestimated for forty years could still make her own decisions.
That evening, the banquet hall looked beautiful.
White flowers decorated the tables. Candles flickered beside the plates, and soft music played beneath the conversations of our arriving guests.
Our children came first, followed by relatives, friends, and Daniel’s colleagues.
Everyone complimented the decorations.
My sister hugged me and whispered, “Forty years! You two must know the secret to a lasting marriage.”
I held her hand.
“Perhaps the secret is knowing when to keep fighting—and when to stop pretending.”
She smiled, assuming I was joking.
Daniel arrived wearing a dark suit and the silver watch I had given him on our thirtieth anniversary.
He looked handsome.
That was one of the cruelest parts of betrayal: the face you love doesn’t necessarily change when the truth changes everything.
He kissed my cheek and adjusted my necklace.
