Emma sat at the kitchen table, her phone buzzing beside her untouched coffee. The message glowed on the screen:
Morning, love. Dinner tonight? Just us. I miss you.
It wasn't the Ethan she remembered—the man sending curt reminders about legal documents, the one who no longer looked her in the eyes. This Ethan was tender, attentive, loving.
Her stomach churned. These words didn't feel real.
She pressed trembling fingers against her temples. Memories collided violently in her mind, a kaleidoscope of contradictions. She remembered signing divorce papers. She remembered crying alone in this very kitchen. She remembered Ethan's cold laughter when she begged him to stay.
But she also remembered candlelit dinners. Quiet walks hand-in-hand. The warmth of his lips pressed against hers just last week.
Which memory was true?