Chapter 1: He Married Another Woman in My Own Backyard

The day the man I’d lived with for twelve years married someone else, I canceled my flight home.

I was already at the gate at O’Hare, and my flight to Savannah was boarding.

I’d been looking forward to going home.

Then my phone buzzed with a notification from my front door camera. I thought it was a delivery and tapped it open.

Instead, I found myself watching a wedding.

In my own backyard.

White chairs were set up across the lawn I mowed myself, and string lights were woven through the rose bushes I’d planted with my own hands.

The man stood there in the suit I’d picked out for him, holding another woman’s hand.

She was his late wife’s sister—the same woman who, for the past year, had been telling me to be more understanding.

She’d said that after losing his wife, he had a hard time trusting marriage again. That if I pushed too hard, I’d only scare him away.

I believed her.

And now, he was slipping a ring onto her finger.

She was wearing the handmade wedding dress my mother had left me.

Except the dress was ruined.

The hem had been brutally hacked off, and the pattern my mother had sewn stitch by stitch was nothing but ragged threads.

The bride nudged the mutilated skirt with her toe. “At least it doesn’t look so old-fashioned anymore,” she said with a laugh.

The man lowered his head and kissed her without a shred of hesitation.

Then he raised his glass to the guests. “Today,” he announced, his voice loud and clear, “we finally became a real family.”

At that, I actually laughed.

For twelve years, he’d lived in my house, enjoyed the life I’d built for us, and still insisted I wasn’t family.

I’d wanted marriage; he told me to wait.

I’d wanted a promise; he called me controlling.

Just last night, he had called to remind me not to miss my flight, his tone so casual you’d think nothing was wrong.

I suppose in his mind, I was supposed to come home on schedule, cry, make a scene, and then—because I couldn’t bear to throw away a twelve-year investment—stay.

The airport PA system announced the final boarding call.

I swiped the wedding feed away. No confrontation. No goodbye.

I deleted the e-ticket and dragged my suitcase toward the exit.

They thought that after the wedding, I’d come back.

But this time, I didn’t even want to ask why.

What they didn’t know was that the person who always cleaned up their messes was done with them all.

…

I found a hotel near the airport.

I had just checked in when my phone buzzed.

A text from Grant.

Your clothes and personal items have been moved to the guesthouse. When you get back, please stay there for now.

The tone was what you’d use for a houseguest.

But the Savannah house had been bought outright with my mother’s inheritance. The bed in the master bedroom, the wardrobe, even the coffee machine Grant used every morning—I’d paid for all of it.

They got married in my backyard while I was on a business trip.

And now they were kicking me out of my own room.

I stared at the screen and typed back three words.

Got it.

My phone rang instantly.

I didn’t answer.

A string of texts from Grant followed.

June, I did this for your own good.

Piper is the lady of the house now. It would be awkward for you if she moved straight into the master bedroom with you there.

The guesthouse has everything you need. Just stay there for a little while. Let’s all calm down and give each other some space.

For my own good.

For twelve years, every time I asked him why the wedding kept getting postponed, or why Piper could come and go from our home as she pleased, he’d said the same thing.

You’re being too emotional. Go calm down in the guest room.

Once I’d given in, he would pull me into a gentle embrace, as if I were the one causing the problem by being pushed out.

That wasn’t consideration.

It was exile.

Before, he’d exiled me from a bedroom. Now, he was trying to exile me from my own house.

My phone lit up again.

Sadie had posted an Instagram story.

I opened it to a selfie of her pressed close to Piper, who was wearing the butchered wedding dress, a new diamond ring glittering on her finger. Behind them, on our mantelpiece, was my mother’s photograph.

The caption was just one sentence:

My real family is finally back together.

I zoomed in on the image.

The hem of Piper’s dress was jagged, the pattern my mother had stitched by hand cut clean in half.

A second later, a DM from Sadie came through.

June, I know you’re upset, but this is for Dad.

Aunt Piper is family. Don’t make things hard for everyone.

And you should think about me. I’m starting grad school soon. My tuition can’t be affected.

The last message followed immediately.

For the sake of this family, you have to make some sacrifices.