AT MY WEDDING, MY WIFE BLINDFOLDED ME FOR A PRANK—WHEN I TOOK IT OFF, 140 PEOPLE WERE LAUGHING, AND THE VIDEO FOLLOWED US HOME

The sun was setting behind the brick facades of Hyde Park Square when I drove back to our house. I didn't go inside. I parked across the street in the shade of a massive oak tree, watching the front porch light flicker on.

Ten minutes later, a silver sedan pulled into the driveway.

Sophie stepped out of the driver's side. She looked exhausted, her hair pulled back in a loose clip, wearing a trench coat that looked too big for her. She had a small overnight bag in her hand. She must have come back to pick up more clothes.

I killed the engine, opened my door, and crossed the street before she could reach the front steps.

"Sophie."

She stopped dead, her hand hovering over her keys in the lock. She turned slowly, her eyes widening slightly as she saw me standing under the streetlamp.

"Ethan," she said, her voice tight and defensive. "What are you doing here?"

"I saw the article," I said, keeping my distance, my hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets. "The *Cincinnati Vibe* piece. It went live twenty minutes ago."

Color drained from her face. She dropped her keys, the metal clinking loudly against the concrete step. She didn't pick them up. "I... I didn't sell that story. I swear to God, Ethan, I had nothing to do with it."

"I know you didn't," I said quietly. "Your friend Natalie, or maybe Marissa. It doesn't matter anymore, Sophie. You wanted it viral. You wanted everyone to see how 'fun' you were, how much you could rattle me. Well, now the whole city gets to watch."

She flinched as if I had struck her across the face. Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over her lashes. "I never wanted it to be like this. I just... I wanted a fun moment. I wanted people to talk about how great our wedding was."

"They're talking about it, all right," I said, my voice bitter. "Just not the way you planned."

She looked down at the concrete, her shoulders shaking slightly. "Are you going to sign the papers?"

I looked at her—really looked at her—for what I knew would be the last time. The anger that had consumed me for the past week had finally burned down to a cold, clear ash. There was no hate left. Just an overwhelming, profound sadness that something so bright had ended in such a miserable, petty way.

"I'll sign them tomorrow," I said softly.

She looked up, her lips parting as if she wanted to argue, to negotiate, to find some middle ground. But the words didn't come. She knew as well as I did that there was nothing left to save. The foundation had cracked too deep.

"I'm sorry, Ethan," she whispered, her voice breaking.