The heavy door to the honeymoon suite clicked shut behind the bellboy, sealing me inside with nothing but the low hum of the air conditioner and the obnoxious sound of my new husband snoring.

I stood there in my exquisite lace wedding dress, the long train pooled around my heels like spilled cream, staring at Chris. He was facedown on the massive kingsized bed, still fully dressed in his tuxedo, one arm dangling off the edge, mouth open as he snored loudly enough to rattle the crystal champagne flutes on the nightstand. The expensive bottle of scotch we’d been gifted sat halfempty beside him. He’d started celebrating the moment the...