And then, not long after, one of the wives in our circle told me that Colino had acquired a bracelet. Not just any bracelet—a vintage piece that once belonged to European nobility. A princess had worn it to her coronation. It was worth more than most men earned in a lifetime.
So naturally, I thought… maybe he bought it for my birthday. A grand gesture, the kind he used to make when we first fell in love.
But on the day of my birthday, Piper posted on her social media. That exact bracelet—worth millions, irreplaceable, mine by every right of love and loyalty—was wrapped around her slender wrist. In the photograph, a man's hand was holding hers, fingers laced together with intimate familiarity. I recognized those hands. I'd held them a thousand times.
That night, I waited until the last birthday candle burned itself out, the wax pooling on the untouched cake. Colino never came home.
It was the first time he ever forgot my birthday.