Of course, it’d been a surprise when she found out he was dating Tilda. Having been in Beatrice’s graduating class meant Tilda was almost thirty years Evan’s junior. Not only that, Beatrice had always said she had a head like a hot air balloon. Young, beautiful, alluring . . . but nothing upstairs. And Evan was a surgeon . . . top of his class at NYU’s School of Medicine . . . used to hobnobbing with the best and the brightest. It wouldn’t last. After all, what did they have in common? Eventually, he’d grow bored.

But the photograph that greeted her now was far from boring.

In fact, it was downright scandalous.

It was Evan with his wild salt-and-pepper hair and his tanned, handsome face, wearing a godawful Hawaiian-print shirt, unbuttoned to reveal his graying chest hair and bulging tummy. He was standing in front of a crystal-blue Caribbean Sea with Tilda, who was wearing the tiniest of string bikinis. Their arms were wrapped tightly around each other with Tilda showing off her perfect manicure to the camera . . . and the giant honking eighteen-wheeler headlight of a diamond that made her hand look like a Barbie doll’s hand.

Diana just stared at it, sure she was seeing things. They’re in Haiti. We used to go there all the time. Maybe, she thought stupidly, it’s a joke. Maybe it’s a fake she bought from the duty-free store or one of those street vendors.

Forgetting to breathe, she scanned underneath the photograph to find the caption: Presenting the soon-to-be new Mrs. St. James! I’m so lucky to have you in my life, babe.

Diana frowned. Babe? Never in her life had he called her babe! Maybe because he realized with Tilda, he was completely robbing the cradle. And the new Mrs. St. James? The divorce isn’t final yet. I’m STILL Mrs. St. James, you twit!

For a second, she thought about commenting that, but decided against it. There were over one hundred comments, all various forms of Congratulations to the happy couple. Diana scanned through it, hoping, wishing someone would’ve commented the obvious: You’re an old man robbing the cradle, and you should act your age.

No such luck.

She lifted her phone, ready to throw it down and smash it into a million pieces. Her Thai food had gone cold, and now she no longer had the appetite for it.

Then she scrolled back up and caught sight of Evan. The look in his eye was a becoming one. Genuinely happy, the way he hadn’t been in a long time with her. He may have been a surgeon, but he wasn’t slick or pretentious in the least. No, he was a bit of a bumbler, the kind of guy who was so unassuming and down to earth. It was impossible to hate him.

You poor oblivious, deluded fool, she thought to herself. I hope she doesn’t hurt you.

But right now, she was the one who was hurting. She poured herself another glass of wine and navigated away from the pictures of people and their happy lives . . . right to the Delta website. She found a flight leaving for Paris in the morning that wasn’t too expensive. She added it to her cart and navigated to the checkout.