The words blurred in front of my eyes.
For months, I’d felt him pulling away—hushed phone calls, distant glances, forgotten anniversaries.
I had braced for heartbreak. But then came applause.
Jeffrey returned down the aisle holding roses, knelt beside me, and asked me to marry him again.
It wasn’t betrayal.
It was a vow renewal, a surprise months in the making.
The lingerie and the ring were part of a plan our kids had helped him design, not signs of another woman.
We landed on the island, and for the first time in years, Jeffrey reached for me like I still mattered. He listened. He touched me like I was his again.
On the beach, beneath a silver moon, he admitted he’d been lost—swallowed by work and fear—but never unfaithful.
The secret texts?
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