Ryan had told her that our marriage was basically over.
He had told her we were practically separated.
He had promised her that the divorce was almost finished.
According to him, only a few signatures remained.
They had met at a charity gala.
First came the messages.
Then the private lunches.
Then the hotel rooms.
And now, finally, they were taking a four-day romantic getaway to Cancun.
An ocean-view suite.
Private dinners.
VIP bracelets.
Two first-class tickets.
That morning, Ryan had stood in our kitchen, adjusting his expensive watch while I sat quietly at the breakfast table with my coffee.
“I’ll be in Austin all week for meetings,” he said casually. “Don’t call too much. I’ll be busy.”
I wrapped both hands around my mug.
“Austin again?”
He simply shrugged.
“That’s business.”
Then he leaned down and kissed my cheek.
Cold.
Quick.
Meaningless.
And walked out the door.
What Ryan didn't know was that my schedule had changed unexpectedly the night before.
I had been assigned as the lead flight attendant on a tourist route.
Destination:
Cancun.
When I saw the assignment, my first instinct was to call him.
But I stopped myself.
For months, something deep inside me had been whispering the truth long before I had any real proof.
And now, the truth was standing directly in front of me.
