Thirteen years after my husband walked out on me and our children for another woman, we came face-to-face at the state’s most prestigious academic championship. He looked me over with pure contempt and snapped, “How dare you show up here?”

Celeste turned sharply toward him.

“Nathan?”

He grabbed my arm.

I looked down at his hand.

“Remove it.”

“You brought them here to humiliate me,” he hissed.

“No.”

I pulled my arm free.

“You managed that yourself.”

His eyes were wild now.

“Preston will still win the Governor’s Cup. That’s the only thing anyone will remember.”

I glanced toward the judges’ hallway.

Three board officials were already waiting for my signal.

“You’re right.”

I smiled faintly.

“People do remember the final round.”

Then I walked away.

The final round was held in a ballroom filled with chandeliers, cameras, students, teachers, and parents.

At center stage sat the silver Governor’s Cup.

Nathan took a front-row seat like a king waiting for tribute.

Preston looked different now.

Pale.

Tense.

For the first time all day, his confidence had cracks in it.

The academic bowl began.

Literature.

Physics.

Constitutional law.