I should have been thrilled. My daughter was getting married, stepping into a new chapter of her life. A fresh start, a real chance at happiness.
She deserved that. She chose wisely. Unlike me.
That thought stung, but I pushed it aside. This weekend wasn’t about me. It was about Mila and Josh. Nothing would ruin that.
Then I remembered who else would be there.
It had been six months since my divorce from Phil. Six months since he had replaced me, not just with another woman, but with a younger version of me. As in… we even shared a name.
Cynthia. Or, as she apparently preferred, Cynti.
The name alone made my stomach turn. It felt deliberate, like he had married a replacement just to keep me lingering in his life, even after he had shattered mine.
He had taken everything. My time, my trust, my ability to believe in love, and now he would parade his new, improved wife in front of me.
I took a deep breath as my plane landed.
For Mila. This is for Mila.
The moment I stepped out of the car at the resort, I saw them.
Phil, standing at the entrance, laughing loudly. His arm draped possessively around her. My heart stopped for a moment. Then it started pounding.
Faster. Louder.
I swallowed my nausea and walked to the reception desk.
“Cynthia, mother of the bride,” I said.
Phil turned at my voice. His smug grin faltered for just a second before he pulled Cynti closer.
Game on.
“Cynthia, there you are! I thought you would’ve arrived earlier,” he said, his voice dripping with mock concern.
“Mila said there was no need,” I replied smoothly, refusing to take the bait.
“Let me introduce you to my wife, Cynti,” he smirked.
She beamed, holding out a perfectly manicured hand.
“Such a pleasure to meet you!”
I shook her hand, keeping my face neutral. I wondered if she knew the kind of man she had married.
Then Phil’s hand slid protectively to her stomach.
“We have exciting news.”
My breath caught.
“We’re expecting a baby.”
I froze.
For years, I had begged Phil for another child. He had always refused. And now, just months after our divorce, he was having one with her?
A punch to the gut, that’s what it was.
“I guess I just needed the right woman to make it happen,” he grinned, voice smug.
The words sliced deep.
I mumbled an excuse and walked away before the tears fell.
That night, I barely lasted at the welcome dinner. I hugged Mila quickly, forced a smile, and claimed exhaustion.
The truth?
I couldn’t breathe.
The next evening, I escaped to the terrace with a book, needing a moment alone.
But of course, Phil found me.
He sat beside me without asking.
“Do you remember when we brought Mila here? She was, what, six?”
“Twelve,” I corrected without looking up.
“You know, you can’t stay mad at me forever,” he smiled.
“I’m not mad.” I flipped a page I hadn’t read.
He studied me.
“You’ve changed, Cynthia. You look… younger. More attractive, even.”
I stilled.
“Stop it, Phil.”
But he leaned in.
“This place brings back memories, doesn’t it? The beach. The stars. Just us.”
“That was a long time ago,” I said, voice cold.
Before I could react, he kissed me.
I shoved him back as hard as I could.
“What are you doing?! Your pregnant wife is waiting for you!”
He looked startled. Then smug.
“We have history.”
I stormed off, shaking.
An hour later, I saw him again, kissing the receptionist.
Not a peck. A kiss. A proper kiss.
Before I knew what I was doing, I took out my phone and took photos.
Then they slipped into a room together. The door clicked shut.
My hands trembled even more.
I didn’t see Phil again until the rehearsal dinner.
Mila looked stunning. Glowing.
She was everything good in this world.
Phil stood with Cynti, playing the devoted husband.
People fawned over them, oblivious to the truth.
I stayed silent. Watching.
Then Phil cornered me.
“I hope you’re not planning on telling Cynti about what happened on the terrace.”
I crossed my arms. “Why shouldn’t I?”
“Because she’s pregnant. She doesn’t need the stress. Think about the baby.”
I laughed softly.
“You haven’t changed one bit,” I said.
His eyes darkened.
“So, I can count on you to keep quiet?”
I tilted my head.
“I saw you with the receptionist,” I said. “And I took photos.”
His face paled.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You have absolutely no control over me now, Phil.”
His nostrils flared. “You stupid cow.”
“How original. Shape up, Philip. You have a good wife carrying your child. If you ruin this, it’s on you.”
He stared at me, speechless.
Then he turned, walking back to his pregnant wife.
I exhaled. And for the first time in years, I felt free.
Phil’s failures were not mine to carry anymore.
I deserved better.
And I finally believed it.
