Val came home early, and the second he walked in he pulled me into his arms. "Annabel, isn't your husband something? Never home past nine, ever."
It was true. He always came back on time, even when the guys teased him about it, just to be with me.
That was why I had loved him without holding anything back.
"Look what I've got. Your favorite barbecue. I went two streets out of my way to get it. Eat up while it's hot."
Was Val's acting really that good?
That concern looked like it came straight from his heart.
So I had believed it, without a shred of doubt, that this was real love. I even started to wonder whether I'd heard wrong.
He watched me eat.
Val wiped the corner of my mouth. "Our wedding rings should be almost done, right? I added a few things to the original design. I want to open the box myself on our wedding day and slip it onto your finger, and catch that surprised look on your face and keep it forever. What do you say?"
The one small flicker of hope left in me went out completely.
So he really did mean to make a fool of me.
"Okay."
It didn't matter. That day was never going to come now.
Muriel had reached out to me.
We'd never lost touch over the years, which was why everyone called Muriel such a generous girl, generous enough to end up with Preston. And everyone added the same line: Annabel Pruitt was finally getting what she deserved.
Once Val had been called away, Muriel sent me a message.
*All it takes is a step from my foot and it turns into a ring. Isn't that something? I wonder which poor soul is going to end up wearing a ring I stamped out with my foot.*
The photo was of my wedding ring.
As if it were laughing at how stupid I'd been.
Making me see that I hadn't misheard a thing. What they'd said in that booth was true.
The person Val loved most was Muriel, and he would let Muriel do anything she pleased.
Which was why he'd let me lose my dignity twice, just to make Muriel happy.
Had he forgotten how I'd gotten through it back then? There'd been a point where I wanted to die.
The pain in my chest was crushing, like a hand had closed around my heart.
When Grandpa Whitfield's call came through, I hesitated and didn't dare pick up.
I'd acted on impulse earlier.
Because years ago my mother gave up everything to chase after love and stay behind, and she died only a few years after I was born.
Barely three months later, my heartbroken father married another woman.
Back then my mother said she didn't regret the choice she'd made.
After what happened that year, Grandpa had wanted me to go to France with him.
I made the same choice my mother had. And somehow I'd come to understand hers too.
A man who was that good to me, who took half the abuse on my behalf. I couldn't bring myself to leave.
But in this moment, I regretted it.
