When my ex-husband invited me to his wedding, I laughed so hard I nearly dropped the envelope into my coffee.
He was still hilariously predictable.
This was exactly the kind of cruel, polished nonsense Adam loved.
The invitation was thick cream cardstock, expensive enough to feel smug. It mentioned that the theme was gold and the ceremony would be held at a vineyard two hours outside the city.
Black tie optional, which in Adam’s language meant, « I will absolutely judge what you wear. »
I was about to toss it onto the counter and forget it existed when I noticed the handwritten note at the bottom.
« Hope you can come alone. It would mean a lot to me. »
That was the part that made me sit down.
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