PART 1

I bought a new dress for our fortieth  wedding  anniversary because I wanted my husband to look at me the way he once had.

One hour later, David stood in front of fifty guests, introduced his mistress, and announced he was leaving me.

Then my daughter reached for the microphone.

And suddenly, the night no longer belonged to him.

David asked for the microphone during our anniversary dinner, and for one foolish second, I believed he was about to say something beautiful.

We had been together since college.

Forty years.

Three  children.

Five grandchildren.

A house we had painted twice.

A garden we argued about every spring and never once changed.

When David suggested a big celebration, I felt touched. He had never been overly sentimental, so when he booked an elegant restaurant and invited everyone we loved, I let myself believe age had softened him.

More than fifty people came.

Our children. Our grandchildren. Old friends. People who hugged us and called our marriage inspiring.

I believed them.

Then David stood.

“Dear guests,” he said, smiling. “I have important news. It’s time everyone learned the truth.”

I clasped my hands under the table, thinking he had prepared a surprise for me.

He had.

Just not the kind I expected.

David walked to the entrance, opened the door, and led a younger woman inside by the hand. She was around thirty-five, wearing a green dress, beautiful in the effortless way of someone life had not yet worn down.

“This is Lydia,” David said proudly. “My true love.”

The room went silent.