The woman across the aisle started clapping.

The bus doors hissed open. I walked past Karl and headed down the aisle.

“Megan, please…” he called after me. “Don’t do this. Don’t destroy our chance to be happy.”

I stepped off the bus.

Across the street stood a police station. For a moment, I stood there shaking, my wedding ring suddenly heavy on my hand.

Then I walked.

I didn’t look back. I went inside, approached the desk, and pulled out my phone, finding the recording of Karl’s confession.

Standing there, ready to report my husband’s crimes, I understood one thing with sudden, brutal clarity: Karl had died on our wedding day after all.