Hotel bills. Steakhouse checks. Jewelry purchases. Couples’ spa weekends. All paid for from accounts I had helped fund. On the back of one valet ticket was a name I had tried to pretend meant nothing.
Brianna.
Ryan had not just left me. He had replaced me, financed the affair, and waited for his grandmother’s money so he could throw me away.
That night, my best friend, Lauren, found me sitting on the living room floor with the shoebox in my lap.
“Get up,” she said, furious. “You are not staying in this tomb.”
She took me to her apartment, but first insisted we stop at a grocery store for wine and food. In the produce aisle, I froze.
Across the store, near the butcher counter, stood Ryan and Brianna.
They looked like a couple planning a beautiful future. She wore a soft cashmere sweater. Her hand rested on his arm. They laughed while placing expensive steaks and wine into their cart.
