He Ran Away with His Secretary,I Ran Into His Uncle's Arms

Three years into my marriage, my ex-boyfriend rose from the dead and showed up at my door.

He looked around the house I'd kept in perfect order, nodding with satisfaction.

“Susie, I only faked my death to teach you a lesson. You shouldn't have slapped that girl.”

“She's over it now, and I've had my fun. Time to settle down and marry you.”

Paul Delgado and I had been childhood sweethearts. When we grew up, he voluntarily surrendered his family shares as a show of devotion and proposed.

But the night before our wedding, I caught him in bed with another woman.

I tore apart every last decoration in the bridal suite like a woman possessed, then slapped the girl so hard her head snapped to the side.

Paul dropped to his knees at my feet, swearing he'd been drunk and mistaken her for me.

He rushed to send the girl out of the country, but on the way to the airport, his car went off a cliff. They never recovered a body.

After Paul died, I blamed myself for pushing the fight. I spiraled until I broke completely.

I swallowed pills. I jumped off a building. I tried every way I could think of to end myself as penance.

But the year after I'd begun mourning him like a widow, I spotted his face in a travel blog post.

Standing beside him was Amber Cole, his curvy little secretary.

In that instant, every last shred of love I had for him evaporated to zero.

I lifted my gaze to Paul now and let out a cold laugh.

“What made you think I'd wait for you? I've been married for years.”

——

My phone buzzed. A photo from Douglas Delgado.

“We landed safe, sweetheart. Me and our little one.”

Looking at my daughter's beaming face nestled in his arms, I couldn't stop the smile that tugged at my lips.

Paul leaned over to peek at the screen.

I killed the display immediately, brows drawing together in irritation.

But his expression only softened, a flicker of tenderness crossing his features.

“Susie, once we're married, we'll have a daughter even cuter than that.”

Acid surged up my throat. I stepped back, putting distance between us.

“Stay away from me. You and I have nothing to do with each other anymore.”

Paul assumed I was still angry. He smiled, indulgent and patronizing.

“Okay, okay, okay. How about a blueberry cake? Will that make it better?”

I frowned. Maybe that fall off the cliff really had knocked something loose in his head.

If he'd spent five seconds online before waltzing back home, he'd know I'd married his uncle Douglas. That made me his aunt by marriage.

Paul waved his phone at me, inching closer.

“I ordered you a double portion. Surely that's enough to make up for it.”

Back when we were together, Paul's go-to peace offering after every fight was a blueberry cake.

The fights always started the same way: I'd get upset that he was clueless about romance, that he never once planned a surprise for me.

Yet he remembered Amber's birthday without fail. On the day itself, he'd send her the latest from every luxury brand and nine hundred and ninety-nine red roses.

Amber would post photos on social media and tag me specifically.

“Don't get the wrong idea, Susie! Mr. Delgado and I are just friends.”

When I confronted Paul, he knelt on a washboard with wide, innocent eyes and held up three fingers in a solemn vow.

“Susie, there is nothing going on between us.”

“I just happened to find her crying in the stairwell. Turns out the other staff were bullying her.”

“The gifts were my way of putting those people in their place. That's all.”

He knelt on that washboard all night to prove his loyalty, then bought the bestselling blueberry cake from the nearest bakery as an apology.

I saw the dark circles bruising the skin beneath his eyes and my heart softened. I forgave him.

Thinking back on it now, I almost wanted to laugh.

How had I been so blind to what was going on between Paul and his little secretary?

Over a decade, wasted on him.

The blueberry cake arrived quickly. Paul presented it to me with both hands, eager to please.

I stared at him, my voice flat and quiet.

“You never noticed I'm allergic to blueberries?”

The last time I'd eaten one of those cakes, the pain in my stomach had been unbearable. I'd spent the whole night doubled over, throwing up and worse.