We were home, sorting through old boxes of his childhood photos to show his mom, when I found it. Tucked inside a photo album, beneath loose snapshots, was a single polaroid I’d never seen.

Zach. Smiling. Arm around another woman.

And on her finger — unmistakably — was my ring.

I froze.

My breath left my chest like I’d been punched. The symbols. The stone. It was the same ring.

I held up the photo. “Who is this?”

His face drained of color. For a split second, he looked terrified. Then he whispered: “Her name was Camille.”

His voice cracked.

“She was my fiancée before you.”

My stomach dropped. He hadn’t told me about a previous engagement. Ever.

“Why am I wearing her ring, Zach?”

He shook his head, eyes wide. “You don’t understand. She