Betrayed at the Altar He Sold My Home Behind My Back

Seven days before the wedding, a red decorative wedding motif appeared on the door of my new apartment.

I wasn't the one who put it there.

And I wasn't the one who locked the door.

I rang the doorbell. The woman who answered was wearing a silk pajama set.

She leaned against the doorframe, her gaze drifting from my face down to the keys in my hand.

“So you're Joy Fox?”

“Fabian Dickerson said you'd show up.”

“He told me you're the type who loves throwing the apartment in people's faces.”

She smiled.

“But sorry.”

“This door? I'm the one opening it now.”