I didn’t have an answer.
And I was beginning to accept that I might never receive one that made sense.
My father was quieter.
He spent several evenings helping me organize documents and financial records.
He insisted that I keep copies of everything.
He also reminded me that I had not caused the scheme by trusting someone who had deliberately misrepresented his intentions.
One evening, he found me sitting alone in the living room.
I was staring at a photograph from the wedding.
Adrian was smiling.
His arm was around my waist.
I looked happy.
My father sat beside me.
“Do you still love him?”
I swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
He nodded.
“That’s understandable.”
I looked at him.
“How can I miss someone who did this to me?”
He took a breath.
“Because the relationship you believed you had was real to you, even if he wasn’t honest about it.”
