I sighed, placing the phone face down. It was typical. Trevor was likely “networking,” which in his vocabulary meant drinking single-malt scotch on a terrace and charming investors with stories that were 10% truth and 90% my hard work.
To distract myself from the silence, I picked the phone up again and opened Instagram, expecting nothing more than the usual parade of curated travel photos and stylized plates of food. I scrolled mindlessly, letting the dopamine hits numb my brain.
I had no warning. There was no premonition, no sudden drop in temperature. Just a refresh of the feed, and there it was—a single image that would tear open the foundation of my life.
The first picture was posted by my mother-in-law, Denise Miles.
It was not a grainy selfie or a landscape shot. It was a high-resolution, professionally lit wedding photograph, bathed in the golden, syrupy light of a tropical sunset.Photo album creation
Guests stood in elegant linen attire beneath arches of white orchids and jasmine. In the center, wearing a bespoke ivory suit I recognized—because I had paid the tailor’s bill two months ago—stood Trevor. He was smiling. It wasn’t the practiced, camera-ready smile he gave me at charity galas. It was a look of pure, unadulterated adoration.
And his arm was linked with a woman in a lace gown that clung to her like a second skin.
The breath left my lungs in a violent rush. I recognized her immediately. Kaitlyn Shaw. She was a twenty-four-year-old junior executive at my own firm. I had mentored her. I had approved her bonus last quarter.
I read the caption, my vision blurring at the edges.
“My son has finally found true happiness. A union of souls in Bali. I am so proud of you both.”
