I heard my ex-wife was marrying a broke man, so I showed up to mock her— but the moment I saw the groom, I went home and cried until morning.

Life moved on.

Or so I thought.

Three years later, I heard Elena was getting married.

A mutual friend mentioned it casually.
“She’s marrying a guy who works at a small auto shop. Not much money. Kind of… ordinary.”

I smiled when I heard that.

In my mind, it confirmed everything I wanted to believe:
that Elena had downgraded,
that she’d been bitter and impulsive,
that she’d lost without me.

I decided to attend the wedding.

Not to congratulate her.

But to prove—to myself—that I’d won.

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