Part 1:
On my first morning at my new job, I saw a picture of my husband on another woman's desk.
The office buzzed with the typical sounds of a Monday: the clatter of keyboards, the ringing of phones, the hum of coffee makers, and people pretending to be more awake than they actually were. TechSphere occupied two gleaming floors of a building on Madison Avenue, with glass walls, clean lines, and an ostentatious simplicity.
My employee ID badge was still warm, freshly printed, when I walked past my new coworker's desk.
That's when I saw the photo.
The photo was framed in silver, next to a small plant and a pink diary. A man in a navy blue polo shirt smiled at the camera, his face slightly turned.
I recognized that smile.
He slept next to her for seven years.
Keeping my composure, I pointed to the photograph.
"Who is that?"
My colleague, Maya Jenkins, felt immediately encouraged.
"This is the man I'm going to marry," she said.
The room seemed to spin around me. Someone laughed near the elevators. The espresso machine whistled. Sunlight streamed through the windows.
But my world stopped.
The man in the photo was Michael Davis.
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