The room froze.
Even the waiters stopped moving.
The DJ looked down at the small card in his hand and swallowed hard.
“Uh… ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice cracking slightly, “before we continue the celebration, I’ve been asked to read a special message that was left for the couple.”
Tyler’s smile faded.
Gabriella looked confused.
The DJ hesitated.
“I was told this was supposed to be played during the reception.”
A large screen behind the dance floor suddenly lit up.
Whispers spread across the ballroom.
“What is this?”
“Did they plan a surprise?”
Tyler’s face drained of color.
Because he recognized the screen.
It was connected to his laptop.
And only one person besides him knew the password.
Me.
Months earlier, while we were still married, Tyler had synced his phone and computer to our shared cloud account. After the divorce, I never touched it. I didn’t care enough to look.
At least that’s what I told myself.
Then one night, while searching for old baby photos, I accidentally stumbled across a folder.
A folder he had forgotten existed.
Thousands of messages.
Photos.
Videos.
Dates.
Receipts.
Everything.
Proof that Tyler and Gabriella hadn’t fallen in love after our divorce.
Their affair had started nearly a year before he left me.
Back when I was pregnant.
