“No ring?” he drawled, glancing at my bare finger. “And here I was, sure this marriage would be the one to last.” He was mocking me. I wouldn’t be married now if he hadn’t disappeared while I was still naked in his bed. I knew it deep inside. Things would’ve been different if he had stayed. But he didn’t. He didn’t care enough. And over the years, I’d begun to resent him for it. He didn’t want me—he’d made that abundantly clear—yet he had to torment me about my relationship, as nonexistent and embarrassing as it was.
