And then, clearing out the bottom drawer of Andrew’s desk, my hand caught on a thick paper folder.

The tab was labeled with two printed names: Andrew Foster and Gemma Salas.

Inside were official copies of marriage license applications, vendor receipts, catering forms.

And my eyes went to the dates stamped on the paperwork, and the floor dropped out from under me, because the documents had been submitted nearly two weeks before my scheduled wedding date.

I stood frozen in the middle of that room as the truth reorganized itself around me.

This was not an impulsive decision made because I was three hours late to a chapel.