And if I hadn’t pressed record on my phone, I might never have been able to prove it.
The wedding had been beautiful.
That was what everyone kept telling me.
The ballroom glowed beneath crystal chandeliers. White roses climbed the pillars. Waiters moved between tables carrying champagne, and my father’s eyes had filled with tears when he walked me down the aisle.
Grayson looked at me as though I were the only woman in the world.
When he slipped the ring onto my finger, he whispered, “You’re my home now.”
I believed him.
I had believed him when he defended me against his mother’s sharp comments. I had believed him when he insisted on putting our coastal apartment in my name. I had believed him when he sat beside me in a solicitor’s office and said that a woman should always have something that belonged to her alone.
Afterward, I’d cried in the car.
