When Theron’s friends caught wind of our wedding, I overheard one exclaim, “You’re going to marry? Is this part of your scheme? You’ve pulled out all the stops this time!”
Back then, I had been blind to Theron's sidelong glances, confidently proclaiming, “Of course! We have been in love for six long years!”
Those words felt like nothing more than a regretful whisper when the truth lay bare before me.
Maybe I wouldn't have fallen apart if it had been just a social media post. But a week ago, I stumbled upon tens of thousands of encrypted photos in his cloud storage.
Each shot was a snapshot of Lyra’s ever-changing smile from high school to college.
My furiousness erupted like wildfire when his sea of deception was laid bare, sparking our first real argument.
He shrugged it off, insisting he had forgotten to delete the photos. But I knew it was just another lame excuse, a last-ditch effort to make me swallow his line of nonsense.
Then he turned the tables, accusing me of invading his privacy. There wasn’t a trace of remorse in his voice, nor did he offer comfort for my wounded heart.
We had been giving each other the cold shoulder for a whole week.