It had been a month since my divorce from Michael was finalized. His decision, entirely unexpected. I didn’t fight it—sometimes people fall out of love. I let him go, and we hadn’t seen each other since.
But on an ordinary weekday, while picking up cat food for my clinic’s newest rescue, a flash of white in the parking lot caught my eye. A pristine sports car, parked between two faded sedans. The sleek logo on the hood was unfamiliar, but before I could place it, the driver’s door swung open, and my heart stopped.
Michael stepped out, but he wasn’t the man I remembered. The husband I knew wore khakis from clearance racks and whatever T-shirt he could find. He worked long hours as a grocery store cashier, barely making more than minimum wage.
But this version of Michael? He was dressed in a designer suit that likely cost more than our old apartment’s rent. A Rolex glinted on his wrist, his hair expertly styled. The transformation was jarring.
I left my cart behind and walked outside. “Michael?” His name left my lips before I could stop it.
He turned, and for a split second, something flickered in his eyes. Then it vanished, replaced by cold disdain.
“Hey! Wow, congrats!” I forced myself to be civil. “This must be the car you always dreamed about. Looks like you’re doing well. Did you get a new job?”
“Katherine, we’re not together anymore. This isn’t your business,” he said coolly, fixing his hair while walking past me. But then, he stopped at the grocery store entrance and reached into his pocket. “Oh, wait. Here. Think of it as my parting gift.”
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