He Gave Us Matching Rings. I Married the Butcher.

Halfway through his vows, Hudson Farley tightened his grip on my hand. I thought he was nervous until I looked up and saw that his eyes were wet.

He was looking past me.

“Jean.”

I turned. Jean Swanson stood at the back of the chapel in a white wedding gown, one hand braced against the end of a pew. On her ring finger was a soda-can tab, bent into a band just like the one Hudson had slipped onto mine.

Until then, I’d thought he’d made mine just for me.

Jean had walked out on him eight years ago. I hadn’t even known she was back in town.