My ex-husband’s wedding invitation arrived by text.

“Come to my wedding with Claire and bring the girls. Your invitation includes a +1, but we both know you don’t have anyone.”

That was very Max.

We had been married for almost thirteen years and had two daughters, ten and three, when he decided I no longer looked the way he wanted.

“You don’t look like you used to,” he told me.

Then I discovered Claire.

His personal trainer.

When I confronted him about the affair, Max didn’t apologize.

“What did you expect? Men are visual. Claire is perfect.”

I stood in our bedroom while he packed.

“You cheated because I gained weight?”

“You used to have a slim waist, Ronnie. When was the last time you even looked at yourself in the mirror?”

After that, I looked constantly.

At my stomach.

My arms.

My reflection from the side.

I changed clothes because I could still hear Max telling me what I should hide.

Then he announced he was marrying Claire.

I could have skipped the wedding, but our daughters were going, and my oldest kept asking whether I would be there.

So I said yes.

Then I looked at the +1.

I wanted Max to see that I was fine.

More than fine.

That was how I ended up standing beside my coworker Edward’s desk on Monday morning.

“I need a favor.”

He looked up.

“That sounds expensive.”

“Come to my ex-husband’s wedding with me.”

“As emotional support?”

“As my boyfriend.”

He stared.

“Pretend boyfriend,” I added.

“Oh. Much healthier.”

Edward had become one of my closest friends during the divorce. He listened without trying to fix everything, brought me coffee when the divorce became final, and once helped me rewrite an angry message to Max before I sent something I would regret.

He was also tall, athletic, and annoyingly handsome.

Exactly the kind of man Max would notice.

“Why me?” Edward asked.

I tried to joke.

“Because you’re ridiculously presentable.”

He kept watching me.

“Veronica.”

I sighed.

“I want Max to see me with you and wonder if leaving me was a mistake.”

Edward leaned back.

For some reason, that answer seemed to bother him.

Then he nodded.

“Okay.”

I should have wondered why he agreed so easily.

Instead, I spent the week worrying about my dress.

Max had trained me well.

I rejected dress after dress because I could hear his old comments about my waist and arms.

Eventually, I chose the one I had liked before imagining what he would think.

Edward picked me up on Saturday.

There was a large cardboard box in the back of his car.

“What’s that?”

“Donation stuff.”

I didn’t ask again.

The wedding was enormous.

Flowers everywhere.

White tablecloths.

Champagne.

More chandeliers than any room needed.

Our daughters were thrilled.

Then Max saw us.

His eyes moved from me to Edward and back again.

For one satisfying second, he had nothing to say.

Claire stood beside him in a fitted white gown.

She looked beautiful.

I hated that noticing still hurt.

Max approached.

“So this is your plus-one?”

“Max, this is Edward.”

Edward offered his hand.

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