Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 124451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 498(@250wpm)___ 415(@300wpm)
It feels like my entire world is on fire.
Trenton wasn’t just having an affair; he had a whole family. A wife, children—everything sacred between us, he had with another woman.
A tiny pair of white baby booties stare up at me from the bottom of an empty box, and my heart falls to the floor. Our babies. Even if he didn’t love me anymore, how could he do this to them?
Tanner and Addie have gone without, their father absent while he doted on his new wife and children, leaving them to fend for themselves through the hardest year imaginable. While Addison lay comatose in the hospital, recovering from a violent rape, Trenton was taking his daughter to play dates, and while Addison was coming to terms with her rapist walking free, Trenton was hiring a babysitter so he could wine and dine his new wife.
I’ve never felt so foolish. Twenty-three years of marriage just washed away. How am I ever supposed to trust again?
Letting out a sigh, I try to focus on sorting Trent’s shit into three piles: claim as my own, mail to the sorry bastard, and burn in a fiery pit of hell. So far, the fiery pit of hell pile is looking pretty full.
When the well of tears inside me has finally run dry, I push the empty box aside and grab another, tipping it upside down unceremoniously. An old phone falls out, and the screen cracks as it tumbles over twenty-three years of junk. There are things in these boxes I haven’t seen or thought about in years, and while some come with fond memories, the rest just leaves me aching.
The longer I stare at the old iPhone, the more foreign it looks. Trenton has always been a Samsung user, and the phone definitely never belonged to me. I scoop it up and turn it over in my hand, pressing the power button and holding it down for a moment. The Apple logo appears on the screen, sending a rush of relief coursing through my veins, but not even a second later, the screen goes black again.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I toss the phone to the side. That’ll have to be a job for another day. It needs one of the old Apple chargers, and I can guarantee I don’t have one of those hanging out in a drawer anymore.
A soft knock sounds at my bedroom door as I’m shoving yet another armful of crap into the burn pile, not even bothering to look over the contents. My brows furrow as I glance up. “Come in,” I say slowly, wondering who the hell that could be. After all, neither of my children have ever knocked on my door in their life. They prefer the more subtle approach of just barging right in.
The door opens and Brielle’s face appears in my room. “Hey, sorry. I was just wondering if you had a second?” she questions hesitantly before scanning over the array of crap before me. “I can come back if now isn’t a good time.”
“Oh no, sweetheart,” I say, trying to force a welcoming smile across my face but it feels so fake. “Come in.”
She presses her lips into a tight line, and as she steps into my room and closes the door behind her, I see something in her eyes. Whatever this is, it’s hard for her.
Brielle walks across my room as I get to my feet and step out of the pile of crap. I can’t help but notice papers in her hand, and for some reason, it puts me on edge. “How can I help you, darling?” I ask, offering her a seat at the end of my bed.
She cringes as she sits down, looking up at me sadly. “I think it’s more about how I can help you.” I arch a brow, but the reluctance in her tone suggests this isn’t anything I actually want help with. “Umm, yesterday,” she says, visibly swallowing. “I kinda broke into Orlando’s office and found some things I thought you should have.”
I pull back in surprise. “Me?” I question. “Are you sure? I’ve had nothing to do with Orlando, only my children.”
“I know,” she murmurs. “Which is why I found this so … strange.”
Brielle hands me the papers, and as I skim over them, my brows furrow. “What is this?” I question, never having seen these papers in my life.
“They’re your divorce papers,” she tells me at the same moment I see both my name and Trenton’s printed across the paper. “They were signed and dated seven years ago.”
My gaze snaps up in horror. “What?” I breathe, flipping through the pages. “That’s impossible. We’re still married.” Brielle gives me a tight smile as I reach the final page, finding my signature along with Trenton’s. Only it’s not my signature at all; it’s been forged.