married the boy who once made me believe no one could ever love me.
He swore he had changed.
But the morning after our wedding, Kevin looked at my suitcase by the bedroom door and said, “Pack the rest, Maggie. Then leave.”
He sat in his wheelchair near the window, his wedding ring still on his finger.
“Kevin,” I whispered. “We got married yesterday.”
His face hardened.
“Yesterday was a mistake.”
