For twenty-five years, I thought I had the perfect marriage. I believed in love stories, in fate, in the kind of romance that lasts forever. But one night, my husband shattered everything with a single confession. He thought I would break. He thought I would collapse under the weight of his secret. But he had no idea who he was dealing with. I used to believe in soulmates. Benjamin and I met when we were fifteen, high school sweethearts who navigated the awkwardness of first love and somehow made it

Three days. That’s how long my mother had been missing. Three endless days of fear, searching, and sleepless nights. Three days of blaming myself for not being there. My mother, Edith, is 67 years old. She has Alzheimer’s. And somehow, while I was away, she wandered out of the house in the middle of the night. Gone without a trace. I was four hours away when it happened, dropping my kids off at summer camp. It was supposed to be a simple trip—drop them off, stay the night in a

I used to dream about weddings. Not in a fairytale-princess way, with sparkling gowns and grand ballrooms. My dreams were simpler. I just wanted to sit in the pews, watch my siblings exchange vows, and share in their happiness. But that never happened. Because every single one of them left me out. Oak, my oldest brother, got married when I was ten. “You’re too young, Lena,” they told me. Then at twelve, another wedding—still not invited. At fifteen, I begged my sister, Ivy, to let me come, but she gave