When I finally decided to accompany my husband to his ex-wife’s house, I never expected to find her in a silk robe with perfect hair and glossy lips. But that wasn’t nearly as shocking as the look on her face when she saw me standing beside him.
The day I met Henry was the day I stopped believing in coincidences. We bumped into each other at a bookstore, both reaching for the same dog-eared copy of “The Great Gatsby.”
Five years of marriage later, and I still get butterflies when he walks through our front door after work.
Well, most days anyway.
“Mel, have you seen my toolbox?” Henry called out from the garage.
I stirred the pasta sauce simmering on the stove and checked my watch.
6:30 p.m. on a Tuesday. Dinner was almost ready.
“Under the workbench, where it always is,” I called back.
The metallic clang of tools told me he’d found it.
A moment later, he appeared in the kitchen doorway, toolbox in hand and car keys dangling from his fingers.
“Going somewhere?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
“Liz called.
Her garbage disposal is making a weird noise, and she’s worried it might be something serious.”
I set down my wooden spoon harder than necessary. “Dinner’s almost ready.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” He gave me an apologetic smile. “I’ll heat mine up when I get back.
Shouldn’t take more than an hour.”
The front door closed before I could respond.
I turned off the burner and leaned against the counter, suddenly not hungry anymore.
My husband doesn’t jump when I ask him to hang a shelf or fix the dripping faucet in our bathroom. But when his ex-wife called about a broken towel bar? He was out the door in five minutes flat.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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