Loveless marriages, unhappy homes, the X factor of another woman. She knew exactly the
sort of miserable brew those ingredients created—and how long the bitter aftertaste could
linger.
Surely Sarah had tasted some of that brew, and likely more than once. Yet she’d stood
beaming joy on her father’s arm. The father who’d been unfaithful to her mother, the father
who’d broken the very vows she herself was about to make.
Yes, she understood unhappy marriages, but she didn’t understand and couldn’t accept using
that unhappiness as an excuse or rationale for being unfaithful.
Why didn’t people just end it? If they wanted someone else, or something else, why not
break it off clean first instead of cheating, lying, tolerating, just existing?
Divorce couldn’t be more painful for a couple, or the child or children stirred up in that brew
with them, than the deceit, the pretense, that smoldering anger. Wasn’t that why, even after all
these years, a part of her wished her parents would walk away from each other instead of
pretending to be married?
“Well, and here I’ve come in to see if I can help since you had all that trouble.” Mrs. Grady
fisted her hands on her hips. “And here you are loafing.”