Only five minutes had passed since the judge finalized my divorce when my father, Gustavo Salazar, grabbed my arm outside the family courthouse in downtown Chicago.
My heart was still in pieces.
My ex-husband, Michael Bennett, had just walked out of the building with Vanessa Collins hanging on his arm as if he hadn’t destroyed nine years of marriage—but had won some kind of prize.
Vanessa wore oversized designer sunglasses, an ivory silk blouse, and the kind of smile that wasn’t about happiness.
It was about humiliation.
Michael glanced back for a second.
“Don’t cry too hard, Mari,” he said quietly. “Some women just don’t know how to keep a man.”
Vanessa laughed.
My face burned.
