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Yanked out of the weirdness of having my family—people I’d never met—described to me, I stared at the woman I’d married close to three years ago. The demure, put-together college grad I’d met at a job fair. Polished. Sophisticated. Accommodating. I’d had to have her, so I’d swept her off her platform-heeled feet.
This was not that girl.
“Wasn’t getting dumped by one of ’em enough?” Cheryl asked.
Delaney cringed but folded her arms. “Okay, Archer. So you found me. What do you want?”
I’d been so busy soaking her in and managing the one-eighty she’d done on me that I’d forgotten what had made me drive from Texas to North Dakota in early July. Now that I was here, I didn’t want to admit why. I didn’t want to tell her about the papers in my car.
But I wasn’t the one who’d left and stayed far away. She hadn’t answered my calls. She didn’t return my messages, other than the first one after she left when I asked if she was okay. Her reply had been“fine.” That was my last communication with her since she’d walked out on me.
Despite my hurt feelings and resentment, my words tasted as sour as lemon juice. “You’ve been gone for over half our marriage. I came to get an annulment.”
