traded accusations.
My marriage was legally dissolved, and I’d regained control of my life.
One September afternoon, I relaxed on the terrace of my newly purchased lakeside home, watching sunlight shimmer across the water.
My mother came over with two glasses of lemonade.
“Any regrets?” she asked.
I remembered my wedding dress, the bouquet I’d abandoned, and the limousine taking my husband away with another woman.
“One,” I said.
She looked worried.
“I wish I’d recognized him sooner.”
Then I smiled.
“But I’m glad he finally showed me who he
