I arrived at my daughter Mila’s island wedding hoping for joy, but instead, I was forced to face my ex-husband Phil—and his new, younger wife, who disturbingly shared my name: Cynti. It had only been six months since our bitter divorce, and seeing him flaunt his new life felt like a cruel twist.
Phil had always been a master manipulator. During our marriage, I played the perfect wife while he paraded his affairs. When I finally left, he stripped me of nearly everything. Now, he stood beside his pregnant bride, announcing their baby with smug pride—knowing I had begged him for another child for years.
I tried to stay composed, but the pain was suffocating. That night, I avoided everyone. The next evening, Phil cornered me on the terrace, reminiscing about our past and complimenting me in ways that felt rehearsed. Then, without warning, he kissed me. I shoved him away, furious. His wife was pregnant, and he was still the same deceitful man.
Later, I caught him kissing the hotel receptionist—proof that he hadn’t changed. I took photos. At the rehearsal dinner, he tried to silence me, pleading for his wife’s sake. I told him I’d stay quiet—for now. But if he ever cheated again, I’d expose him.
Phil tried to intimidate me, but I stood firm. I wasn’t the woman he once controlled. Watching him walk away, I felt something I hadn’t in years: peace. His betrayals were no longer mine to carry. I was free.
