PART 1 — THE POCKET
I woke up the morning after my wedding happier than I could remember being in years.
Everything felt settled.
Safe.
For once, my life had arrived somewhere instead of threatening to fall apart.
Then I put my hand inside my husband’s tuxedo pocket.
And within seconds, every fear I thought I had outgrown came rushing back.
Callum was still asleep in our honeymoon suite, buried beneath a white hotel duvet with one bare arm stretched across the pillow where I had been lying.
I stood beside the armchair wearing nothing but a hotel robe.
His black tuxedo lay across the chair exactly where he had thrown it at two in the morning.
Twenty-four hours earlier, he had stood beneath strings of warm garden lights and promised me that whatever happened in our marriage, we would never build a life around secrets.
