After twelve years of marriage, my world shattered the day Mark and I divorced. I was broken—confused, raw, and lost. Ava, my best friend since college, opened her door and her heart. She let me crash on her couch, cried with me, cooked for me, and slowly helped me piece my life back together. She became my anchor when everything else fell apart. Eight years passed. Time did its quiet healing, and I rebuilt myself—stronger, wiser. Then, out of nowhere, I ran into Mark at a grocery store. He looked older but wore the same smug expression. With a cruel smirk, he asked, “Still friends with Ava? I slept with her.” His words hit like a punch. At first,
