Aaron and I divorced two years ago. We didn’t hate each other — we just grew in different directions. We stayed friendly for our son, David, and Aaron remained a devoted father. I honestly thought we had reached a healthy place.

One evening, Aaron dropped David off after their usual adventure day. David ran inside, excitedly talking about roller coasters, but Aaron stayed in the kitchen with a strange, nervous stiffness. After a moment, he blurted out, “I’m getting married again!” I smiled and told him I was happy for him — he deserved happiness too.

But when I asked who she was, Aaron pulled out his phone and showed me a picture. My heart dropped. It wasn’t a stranger — it was my best friend. The same woman who comforted me during the divorce, who told me Aaron wasn’t worth the tears, who promised she’d always be on my side.

I didn’t yell or cry. I just stared at the picture and nodded. “I hope you both get what you want,” I said quietly. And as he left, I realized something surprising — it didn’t break me. It simply closed a door I’d already walked away from. Sometimes betrayal hurts less when you’ve already healed.