I know because I saw the photos.
That afternoon, after the funeral, I sat alone in our living room—still in my black dress—scrolling through his social media. I hadn’t told him I knew yet. I hadn’t told anyone.
And then I saw it.
An Instagram story.
A drink with a tiny umbrella. A view of the ocean. And in the reflection of his sunglasses—there she was.
Alessia. Feeding him strawberries.
I zoomed in, just to be sure. Behind them, the pool, the bar, the fairy lights I’d seen on the resort website. The same place he said he had “back-to-back meetings.”
That was the moment something in me changed.
Grief hardened into something sharper.
Pain became purpose.
Not revenge.
Not hatred.
Just resolve.
