Chapter 1 The Invitation
# Chapter 1 — The Invitation
The envelope arrived on a Tuesday, a crisp white rectangle that seemed innocuous enough on my coffee table. I recognized Rowan's handwriting immediately—the swooping cursive that always made me think of our childhood calligraphy lessons. For a moment, I simply stared at it, coffee growing cold between my palms.
When I finally opened it, the world stopped spinning.
"Mr. and Mrs. Edward Thompson request the honor of your presence at the marriage of their daughter, Rowan Elizabeth Thompson, to Caleb James Mitchell."
Caleb. My Caleb. My ex-husband.
The invitation was beautiful—cream cardstock with gold foil lettering. Expensive. The kind Caleb and I could never afford when we got married six years ago in that little chapel with the leaky roof. I remembered how we laughed when it started raining, how he pulled me close and whispered, "Even the heavens are crying with joy."
I turned the invitation over, not expecting anything more, but there it was—a handwritten note in that same looping script:
"Thank you for training him so well."
The coffee mug slipped from my fingers, shattering against the hardwood floor. Dark liquid splattered across my bare feet, but I barely felt it. All I could see were those words, dripping with venom.
"Training him." Like he was a pet I had broken in for her.
My phone buzzed. A text from my mother: "Did you get the invitation? Isn't it wonderful news?"
Wonderful. My mother thought this was wonderful.
I didn't realize I was crying until tears dropped onto the invitation, smudging Rowan's cruel note. Two years since our divorce, and somehow Caleb had found his way to my step-sister. The girl who had always wanted what I had. The girl my mother had always preferred.
"Hazel? Are you home?" My roommate Sophie's voice echoed from the hallway. "I saw a package for you at the—oh."
She froze in the doorway, taking in the scene: broken ceramic, coffee stains, and me, clutching a wedding invitation like it was both a lifeline and the thing drowning me.
"Is that..." she began, but stopped when she saw my face.
"Caleb is marrying Rowan," I said, my voice hollow even to my own ears. "My step-sister. And my mother is thrilled."
Sophie crossed the room, carefully avoiding the coffee puddle, and sat beside me. "Let me see that."
I handed her the invitation, watching her eyes widen as she flipped it over and read the note.
"That absolute bitch," she whispered.
A laugh escaped me, half-sob and half-hysteria. "Which one? Rowan or my mother?"
"Both," Sophie said firmly. "But especially Rowan. This is..." She shook her head. "This is calculated cruelty."
I took the invitation back, staring at the date. Six weeks from now. A spring wedding, just like mine had been. The similarities made my stomach turn.
"I'm not going," I said, the words sounding more like a question than a statement.
Sophie looked at me carefully. "What do you want to do?"
What did I want to do? I wanted to turn back time. I wanted to understand how, in the space of two years, my ex-husband had ended up engaged to my step-sister. I wanted to know if he'd been looking at her even when we were together. I wanted to know if our entire marriage had been a lie.
"I want answers," I finally said.
The invitation trembled in my hands as anger replaced shock. I ripped it in half, then quarters, then smaller and smaller pieces until confetti littered my lap. It felt good, this tiny act of destruction. But as the rage subsided, regret washed over me.
"I shouldn't have done that," I whispered.
Sophie stood up. "I'll get some tape."
For the next hour, we painstakingly pieced the invitation back together like a puzzle, taping the fragments until the original message was readable again. It was a ridiculous task, but somehow necessary. When we finished, I stared at the patchwork result, tracing my finger over Caleb's name.
"You know what?" I said, surprising myself with the steadiness of my voice. "I'm going."
Sophie's eyebrows shot up. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"
No, I wasn't sure. But I knew I couldn't hide from this. Whatever game Rowan was playing, whatever had led Caleb to her—I needed to face it head-on.
"I need to see it for myself," I explained. "I need to look him in the eye when he says 'I do' to someone else. Otherwise, I'll never move on."
Sophie didn't look convinced, but she nodded. "Then I'm coming with you. As your plus-one."
I managed a small smile. "You'd subject yourself to my family drama?"
"What are friends for?" She squeezed my hand. "Besides, someone needs to stop you if you decide to object at the 'speak now or forever hold your peace' part."
I hadn't even considered that possibility. The thought of standing up in front of everyone, declaring that I still—no. I didn't still love him. I couldn't. Not after everything.
But as I carefully placed the reconstructed invitation on my desk, I couldn't ignore the ache in my chest. The lingering question of what Caleb saw in Rowan that he hadn't seen in me. The wonder of how quickly he had moved on while I still woke up reaching for his side of the bed.
That night, I dreamt of our wedding day. The rain, the laughter, the hope. In the dream, I looked out at the guests and saw Rowan watching us, a strange smile on her face. When I woke, sheets twisted around my legs and heart pounding, I knew what I had to do.
I would go to this wedding. I would watch the man I once loved marry someone else. And then, finally, I would let him go.
What I didn't know then was that this wedding wasn't the end of our story.
It was just the beginning.
