“Are you sure you want to remove the baby in your belly?” The doctor’s voice crackled through the phone, calm yet heavy with disbelief. “It’s already five months old, Denise. And it’s a miracle baby. You know better than anyone—your inverted uterus, the PCOS… you weren’t even supposed to conceive. You didn’t even know you were pregnant until last week.”
Her words echoed in my skull, stabbing against the walls of my chest. Miracle baby. My miracle baby.
I shut my eyes tightly, my throat constricting. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice trembling but resolute. “Please… prepare everything. I’ll come after five days. I just… I just need to settle some things first.”
Before she could say anything else—before I could hear another plea that might break me—I dropped the call.
The silence that followed was deafening. My fingers curled around the phone until they ached, my breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.
It had always been my dream to have a child with Elijah. Always. If this had happened months ago, back when I believed he married me out of love, I would have been the happiest woman alive. But now? The thought only hollowed me out.
Because last week, everything I thought I knew about my husband shattered.
I had been so excited that day. I remember clutching the pregnancy test, the faint double lines staring back at me, my heart soaring with joy. I had planned a surprise—something special for our anniversary.
I wanted Elijah to discover the news in his office, hidden among his favorite things. Maybe tucked into one of his folders, or better yet, slipped between the pages of the book he loved to read at night.
I imagined it all. Him flipping through the pages, the test sliding out, his eyes widening in disbelief. I imagined myself running into the room, laughing through tears, and him pulling me into his arms. We’d talk about names, the nursery, our future.
But when I picked up that book and flipped the pages, something else fell out.
A photo.
It fluttered to the ground like a cruel omen, face up, mocking me.
It was Elijah—with a woman who looked exactly like me. My breath caught, my hands trembling as I picked it up. Her features mirrored mine so closely that anyone could mistake us for twins. And beneath the picture, scrawled in handwriting I knew too well, were words that tore through my chest:
I love you, Bea. Forever and always. Always you.
My vision blurred, the words swimming before my eyes. Bea.
The name cut through me like ice. Elijah had spoken about her before—offhandedly, in those rare moments when he allowed himself to look vulnerable. He had once said Bea was his first love, his everything, but that she had left him and he had long stopped caring.
I believed him. I thought it was just a distant memory he had buried. But what was this? What was this photograph, this declaration of undying love tucked into the book he read every night?
My legs shook as I stumbled toward his closet, needing answers. And when I pulled it open, my heart nearly gave out.
Gifts. Rows of carefully wrapped boxes stacked neatly on the shelf, each tagged with a date, each untouched. Gifts for Bea.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.
And as if fate wanted to seal my torment, that very night Elijah canceled our anniversary party. No reason. No explanation. Just a cold dismissal.
Devastated, I followed him. I disguised myself, keeping to the shadows, my heart pounding with dread.
I found him. Not at work. Not dealing with business. At a bar. Laughing. Drinking. Surrounded by friends.
I stood frozen as one of them asked, “Are you sure you should be here? Isn’t it your anniversary with Denise?”
Elijah’s laugh cut through the noise. Cruel. Cold. “Who cares about Denise? You all know I only married her because she looks like Bea. They could pass for twins.”
The air left my lungs.
“When Bea left me, I couldn’t move on,” he continued, his tone dripping with venomous truth. “So I agreed to her father’s proposal. Marrying Denise was the closest I could get. She made me feel like Bea was still with me.”
My hands shook violently, tears spilling freely as I listened, unable to look away.
He raised his glass, a smile twisting his lips. “But now that I’ve heard Bea’s divorced her husband… I’ll find a way to dispose of Denise. After I get all those company shares from her father, I’ll send her away. She was only ever a placeholder.”
The words stabbed me again and again, until there was nothing left of me but pieces.
Lies. Betrayal. All of it, in one brutal confession.
The memory was ripped away when the door to our bedroom opened. Elijah walked in, his smile soft, his steps quick as he rushed toward me.
“Babe,” he said gently, reaching out, his concern dripping like honey. “What’s wrong? Are you crying? What happened?”
His facade. The mask I could finally see through now.
He tried to pull me into his arms, but I jerked back. My eyes caught the lipstick stain smeared on his collar. My nose caught the scent of perfume—foreign, too sweet, not even mine nor his.
My stomach churned.
“Stay away from me,” I snapped, my voice low, trembling with fury.
His brows furrowed. “Babe… is this about the anniversary? I told you, I had to—”
I didn’t let him finish.
With trembling hands, I yanked the ring from my finger and hurled it at his chest. The metal clinked against his shirt and dropped to the floor.
“I want a divorce!” My voice echoed through the room, raw and final. “Sign the papers. Now!”
“I want a divorce!” My voice cracked, the words tearing from my throat like glass. “Sign the papers! Now!”
For a heartbeat, he simply stared at me, confusion flickering across his face. Then, slowly, the confusion gave way to disbelief—then to a smirk that chilled me.
“Baby, you’re being dramatic again,” he said, his tone coaxing but laced with condescension. “Come on, I can make it up to you by tomorrow.”
I stared at him, my heart hammering. “No,” I said firmly. “I want a divorce. I don’t love you anymore. I want to end this.”
His smirk faltered, irritation flashing in his eyes. “What do you want then, Denise? Tell me. Do you want a new car? Jewelry? A vacation? I’ll buy you anything—just stop this nonsense.”
The words struck me like a cruel reminder. Because once, that was exactly how he soothed me. Whenever I was angry, Elijah would appear with gifts—lavish bouquets, glittering diamonds, tickets to places I’d never dreamed of. He’d pull me close, whisper apologies against my skin, and promise that I was the only one who mattered.
I remembered the night I caught him missing dinner with me. I had sulked, furious and hurt. The next morning, I found a Cartier bracelet on my pillow, a note scribbled in his familiar handwriting: Forgive me, my love. Dinner tonight, just us.
I remembered when I accused him of being distant during our first year of marriage. He drove me to the beach in the middle of the night, building a bonfire with his own hands, wrapping me in his jacket as he whispered, Don’t doubt me. You’re my everything.
Back then, I believed him. Back then, I thought those gestures were love.
But standing here now, staring at the man in front of me, I finally saw the truth. Those weren’t proofs of love—they were distractions. Lies, wrapped in gold and roses. Tricks to silence me whenever my heart felt unsettled.
And the cruelest part was how much I had cherished them. How much of myself I had given in return.
My chest tightened as I shook my head, tears burning my eyes. “I don’t want anything, Elijah. Not your gifts, not your apologies, not your lies. I just want my freedom.”
Something in his eyes shifted. Gone was the soft, charming Elijah he showed the world. In his place emerged the cold man everyone feared—the one whispered about at business parties, the one people said you never crossed.
It was the same coldness I’d first seen when we married, before I thought I’d thawed him.
A chill rippled down my spine. Now I knew the truth. I wasn’t special. I was convenient. A stand-in. A fool.
His lips curled into a dark sneer. “Are you out of your mind? You can’t just divorce me. Did you even tell your father about this? Do you think he would accept you if you divorce me? And where would you go?”
His words hit like a hammer. My father.
Elijah was my father’s friend. Eight years older than me. I’d agreed to the marriage because my father had been sick and needed someone strong to handle the business. Back then, I still loved someone else. But I’d walked away from him to honor my father’s wishes. Over time, I’d forced myself to love Elijah. I’d convinced myself it was real.
Now, all I felt was betrayal.
His voice cut through my thoughts like a blade. “Do you really think someone would want you after divorce? When they know you were my wife?”
The venom in his tone stunned me.
I straightened, my hands trembling but my voice steady. “I don’t care. Just sign the divorce papers.”
Before he could respond, his phone began to ring on the desk. I glanced down—and my breath caught.
Bea. Her name glowed on the screen like a curse.
Elijah snatched it up, pressing it to his ear. From across the room, I could faintly hear her voice, weak and trembling. “Please help me. I can’t sleep. Please… come here. I’m hurt.”
“Okay,” he said softly, his tone transforming into a tenderness I hadn’t heard in years. “Calm down. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Then he turned to me, his eyes cold again. “I have something urgent. We’ll talk about this later. And don’t you even dare mention divorce again, Denise. You’re mine.”
I stood frozen, his words echoing in my skull. Mine. Why was he being possessive when he had Bea? What use was I to him?
The door closed behind him, and I sank onto the edge of the bed, the silence pressing against me. My hands shook as I reached for my phone.
I dialed the lawyer.
“Draft the divorce papers,” I said, my voice hoarse.
There was a pause on the other end. “Are you sure about this, Mrs. Smith? You know if we do this, you won’t get a thing. Where will you go? And Mr. Smith will never allow you.”
“None of your business,” I whispered. “Just draft it. Deliver it to me tomorrow.”
I hung up before the tears could fall.
Then, almost on instinct, my trembling fingers found another number. A number I hadn’t dialed in years.
He picked up on the third ring.
“Hello?” The voice was deep, familiar.
I closed my eyes. “Nico… it’s me. Denise.”
Silence. Then a sharp intake of breath.
“I know I hurt you,” I said quickly, my words tumbling out, desperate. “But do you still love me? If you do… I’m willing to marry you now. Please. Please help me leave this misery.”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, then Nico’s voice—unsteady, panicked. “Denise? What happened? I thought you were with Elijah… I thought you were happy.”
Tears slipped down my cheeks, my hand trembling around the phone. “He fooled me, Nico. Everything was a lie. And I was a fool for hurting you back then.” My voice cracked as the words tumbled out, raw and broken. “But if you still want me… please. Please help me. I don’t know where else to go.”
The next morning, I woke up sick to my stomach. The room spun as I stumbled to the bathroom, my palms pressed to the cold marble counter as I vomited until my throat burned. My belly still looked flat—an invisible secret, courtesy of my inverted uterus—but the life inside me was real. I could feel it.
I pressed a trembling hand against my stomach, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I whispered hoarsely. “I’m so sorry, little one. In a few days you’ll be gone, and it’s not your fault. It’s mine. I just can’t bear to bring you into this world when your father…” My voice cracked. “When your father betrayed me.”
I closed my eyes, leaning against the wall as another wave of nausea hit me. My body felt weak, hollow.
And then I heard them.
Voices. In our master bedroom.
Soft, low voices. A woman’s voice, hesitant. “But… she might get mad at me.”
A man’s voice—his voice—answering, calm, reassuring. “Come on, it’s okay. I can deal with this alone. Who cares about her opinion?”
I froze in the bathroom doorway, clutching the sink for support, my heart hammering. Their words drifted through the slightly open door.
“She’s gotten so clingy,” Elijah said, his tone dripping with disdain. “Always crying, always demanding. She’s nothing like she used to be. I’m tired of her tantrums. You don’t have to worry about her. She’s just a shell at this point.”
My stomach twisted.
“She might find out,” the woman murmured. “I don’t want to be the reason for trouble.”
Elijah’s laugh was low and bitter. “She’s too weak to do anything. She knows she’s lucky to have me. Without me, she’s nothing.”
The words stabbed me, each one sharper than the last. My hands trembled as I pushed the door open.
He turned, startled, his eyes widening for a split second when he saw me standing there, pale and trembling. “Denise…”
Then, just as quickly, his face hardened, slipping back into that cold mask. “Why are you eavesdropping?”
My blood ran cold.
“Eavesdropping?” I spat, wiping my mouth as I stepped out of the bathroom, my heart pounding. “This is our room, Elijah. Why is she here? She can use one of the other rooms in this house.”
Bea looked down, biting her lip, almost guilty—but Elijah slipped an arm behind her as if shielding her.
“She needs a bigger room,” he said evenly, dismissively. “She’s claustrophobic. She can’t sleep in those smaller guest rooms.”
I shook my head, anger surging through my veins. “No. I’m your wife. And I said no.”
Elijah turned to me, his brows drawn in irritation rather than guilt. “Come on, you’re being indifferent. She’s a family friend. She’s been through an abusive relationship, Denise. She’s traumatized. She can’t even sleep at night.”
I stared at him, disbelief burning through my veins. “So you have to make her sleep in our bed? Kiss her goodnight? That’s your solution?”
His jaw tightened, a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes. And then his hand shot out.
The slap cracked across my cheek, sharp and shocking.
I gasped, my eyes widening. In all the years we’d been together, Elijah had never raised a hand to me. I had been his “baby,” his “princess.” Now, because of Bea, I was nothing.
Tears blurred my vision as I hissed, “If you let her sleep in our room, then we will divorce!”
He laughed—a low, cruel sound. “You can’t threaten me with that. You’re not going to do it anyway.”
He turned to Bea, dismissing me with a glance. “Let her be. She’s just having tantrums. She’ll calm down once I give her something.”
Bea’s eyes softened, guilt flickering across her face as she stepped toward me. “I’m sorry for bothering you,” she said softly. “I swear, I don’t have any ill intention. Maybe… maybe we can be friends. After all, we both loved him.”
Her words sliced through me. Both loved him.
I shoved her away, the sound of my palm against her arm echoing through the room. She stumbled, losing her balance.
“Denise!” Elijah barked, fury igniting his eyes. His hands gripped my shoulders and shoved me. My stomach struck the edge of the dresser with a sickening thud. Pain exploded through my body. Warmth spread down my legs—blood.
I clutched my belly, gasping. “No…”
“Let her,” Elijah said coldly, his voice void of anything human. “She deserves that for hurting you. Surely, she’s gonna cry and say sorry later.”
They left me there.
When I woke again, the ceiling above me was white, the air sterile. The beeping of machines filled the silence. I was in a hospital bed.
And there was Elijah, sitting by my side, his eyes wide and anxious.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said quickly. “I didn’t know you were pregnant. If only I knew, but then it’s okay now… the baby is safe.”
His words were a knife twisting in my chest.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he pressed, his voice soft now, pleading. “Come on, Denise… are you really that mad about the anniversary? About Bea? I’m sorry. Look, I got you something.”
He pulled out a small velvet box, opening it to reveal a necklace. Sparkling. Perfect.
But my eyes caught the flash of silver at Bea’s throat days before—the same necklace.
I stared at it, numb. “Leave me alone,” I whispered, my voice hollow. “I don’t need you. And this baby doesn’t need you.”
Before he could speak again, the door burst open. The butler stumbled in, pale-faced. “Sir… something’s wrong with Miss Bea. She’s fainted and seems to need blood.”
Elijah stood immediately. “I’ll be back,” he said briskly, already moving toward the door.
And just like that, he was gone.
The room fell into a suffocating silence. The steady beep of the monitor was the only thing reminding me I was still alive. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, numb. Hours passed, and he didn’t come back.
Restless, I reached for the remote and switched on the television mounted on the wall. The screen flickered before settling on a live broadcast. My heart stopped. The words Top Model Bea Santos flashed on the screen.
The reporter leaned closer with the mic. “You’ve been making headlines not just in fashion, but in your personal life. We heard about the divorce from your husband. How are you coping now?”
Bea tilted her head, feigning vulnerability. “Of course it was sad,” she said, her voice soft, delicate. “But I believe everything happens for a reason. And sometimes… heartbreak leads you to true love.”
The camera zoomed out, and suddenly Elijah was beside her, dressed impeccably, his hand resting on the small of her back like it belonged there. He smiled at her, his expression tender in a way he hadn’t looked at me in years. And then, without hesitation, he leaned down and kissed her—deep, passionate, unashamed—right there in front of flashing cameras.
The reporters erupted in cheers and questions. When did you start dating? Are you two official now?
Elijah only tightened his hold on her. “Yes. She’s the woman I love. I want the world to know.”
My fingers trembled around the remote, my breath caught in my throat.
And in that instant, everything clicked.
The reason he never wanted to take me to events. The reason he always told me our marriage had to stay private—that his “enemies” might target me, that it was for my safety. The reason I was hidden in the shadows while he dazzled in the public eye.
It was never about protecting me.
It was about waiting for Bea.
But it’s okay, just a few more days and I’ll be gone.
I signed the discharge papers with hands that trembled so badly the pen left uneven ink on the paper. The nurse gave me a pitying smile and a warm blanket, then wheeled me out into the afternoon light where the air felt too sharp and too real.
I went home alone.
The house I had shared with him felt like someone else’s museum. I started to clean. Maybe it was the hospital haze, maybe it was the furious, hollow place in my chest, but I began to throw things away as if by emptying the room I could empty myself of him.
Dresses I had loved, scarves he pretended he adored when he wrapped them around my neck, framed photos where we still looked like a promise—into boxes, into bags. I scrubbed counters until the scent of lemon burned my nose. I wiped away fingerprints, traces, evidence of how easy it had been for him to fit into my life.
Then I opened the closet in our bedroom.
Bea’s perfume hit me first—too sweet, too present. A row of neatly folded sweaters, a shoe box with a brand label I couldn’t pretend to recognize, a pile of glossy magazines with her face on the cover. And tucked between the scarves was a small, black box that resembled a ring box.
I lifted the lid.
The ring inside was not mine. It was delicate, thin, cruel in its shine—as though it had been made to slip perfectly between another woman’s fingers. My lungs tightened so hard I felt as if I might pass out.
I didn’t think. I acted.
I shoved the ring back into the box, wrapped the box in tissue, and dropped it into the trash—hard, so the lid slammed shut like a verdict.
Then I gathered Bea’s sweaters, the copy of the magazine, a pair of heels left by the bed. I threw them into bags, not because I wanted to keep them—no, I wanted them gone, out of the space where I had learned to love and been repaid with lies.
When Elijah walked in, he found a path of emptied drawers and overturned boxes. His mouth tightened. For a second, there was something like recognition in his eyes, and then his face filled with a cold I’d come to know too well.
“What the hell are you doing?” he snapped. Then, before I could answer, his hand connected with my cheek in the same violent arc as before. The sting bloomed, and I tasted metal.
“Are you trying to get on my nerves?” he hissed. “Do you realize what you’re doing to me? To my reputation?”
“Since you don’t want to divorce me, then I’ll throw everything away. I’m your wife!” I spat back, voice raw. “Do you remember that? I have every right to be here!”
He laughed—low, cruel. “Divorce you? Seriously? Is this because you think you can cheat on me now? Bea told me you have another man. Wait—are you even sure that baby is mine?”
“Bea told you?” I cried. “I have another man? Where’s your proof?” My voice broke on the last word. “How dare you believe her without asking me?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I don’t need proof. Bea said it. She’s not one to invent these things.”
Of all the betrayals, that one stung the deepest: his readiness to accept Bea’s word over mine. To let rumor carry more weight than my voice. I wanted to tear the smug smile off his face. I wanted to—God, I wanted to make him feel what I did, what I’d woken up to.
Bea stepped forward then, soft as a lamb and twice as poisonous. “It’s not certain—just a hearsay,” she said, batting her lashes as if the world’s cruelty had landed on her doorstep, not mine. “You should talk about it, though. Honesty is good.”
She smiled at him with that practiced, public smile, and I saw it—the way she was safe in the angle of his arm, the way the room seemed to shift toward her. “You bitch,” I muttered before I knew the words had left my mouth. My fingers found her hair; for a second, my hand went for it.
Elijah’s hand caught my wrist mid-reach, his grip iron. “Lay a hand on her and I’ll—” His voice carried a threat meant to terrify in my stead.
I pulled my arm free, glaring. There was nothing left to lose. “Fine,” I said, the words tasting of broken glass. “Be happy with her. Forget about me. You’ve disappointed me enough.” I turned, hoisting a bag of the things I’d packed—the ring wrapped in tissue tucked inside—and walked for the door.
At the threshold, Bea called after me, voice saccharine. “Where are you going, Denise?”
“None of your business,” I said, and the truth felt good and bitter. I had thought I was the wronged woman, but she savored that role. I would refuse to play it.
She laughed lightly. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him for you.” Her tone was mock-sincere, the kind of line that belonged in magazine features. “You really shouldn’t be jealous. He’s mine now.”
She stepped closer, and for a moment I thought she might try to take the bag. Instead, I opened it, placed the ring and the necklace, the little tokens he’d hoarded for her, into her hands.
“If he truly loves you,” I said, looking straight into her eyes, “then make him sign the divorce papers.”
I left before I could listen to more of her mockery.
Outside, the air was sharp enough to sting. My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. My father’s name flashed on the screen.
“How could you do that?” His voice cracked with anger the second I answered. “You said you wanted a divorce, and now you’re throwing everything away? Don’t you dare—do not—do not do this, Denise. If you go through with it, don’t expect me to help you. You’ll be cut off. You hear me?”
“I’m done.” My voice was steady, but inside I was shaking. “I can’t be just someone you control anymore, Father. I won’t let him break me any further. Goodbye.”
Before he could shout another command, another threat, I pressed the red button and ended the call. The silence in the room was deafening, yet it felt like the first breath of freedom I’d ever taken.
I packed quietly. A single suitcase, my papers, the last few things that still belonged to me and not to him—or Elijah. Today was the day. The day I would free myself of everything, even the baby I had longed for once. My miracle child.
My hand pressed against my belly, guilt clawing through me. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “But I can’t bring you into this world. Not with a father like him… not with a life like this.”
When I stepped into the hallway, Elijah was suddenly there. He held a bouquet of white lilies in his hands, his tie loose, his expression painted with regret. “Denise,” he breathed, as if he’d been waiting. “I’m sorry. About what happened. I didn’t mean for it to go that far. I know you’re mad because of that interview. I had to… for Bea’s career. The media, her image… You understand, don’t you? Please, let’s not be ruined with this.”
I stared at the flowers, cold laughter bubbling in my chest but never reaching my lips. “Do whatever you want, Elijah. You always do.”
His eyes narrowed, but he softened his voice. “Where are you going?”
I forced a smile and lied. “Back to my father’s house.”
His shoulders relaxed instantly. “Good. Maybe you can clear your mind while you’re there. I’ll be away too—business trip. But when I’m back, I’ll bring you everything you want. Just wait, okay?”
Before I could answer, Bea’s voice floated into the hall, sweet and sharp like a knife hidden in silk. “Elijah? I’m ready. Let’s head to the Maldives. I can’t wait to have fun with you.” She caught herself, her eyes flicking to me. “Oops—I mean for the business. Unless…” Her lips curved. “Unless you want to come with us, Denise.”
I adjusted the strap of my bag. “Don’t worry. I have an errand of my own. Don’t mind me.”
And I walked past them, past the perfume cloud of lilies and Bea’s mocking smile, into the waiting night.
The hospital smelled of antiseptic. I lay on the bed, my hands folded over the swell that barely showed, my mind drifting between grief and numbness. The doctor’s voice was steady, professional, explaining every step, but the words blurred into static.
Then my phone buzzed on the table beside me.
Through the corner of my eye, I saw the screen light up. Bea’s name.
My pulse skipped. Against my better judgment, I unlocked it with trembling hands.
A string of photos filled the screen—her and Elijah clinking champagne glasses, laughing on a sunlit balcony, their arms entwined like they were the only two people in the world. Then a video: Elijah feeding her cake with a fork, both of them smiling, both of them glowing.
My throat closed, but the worst part wasn’t the images—it was the message that followed.
Oops, sorry. Sent to the wrong person.
And then another, seconds later:
Or maybe not. Guess he smiles better with me, huh?
The text ended with a winking emoji.
I shut my eyes, clutching the phone so hard my knuckles turned white.
The doctor’s voice cut through the buzzing in my ears. “Mrs. Smith, are you ready?”
I nodded once, wordless.
When it was over, I stared at the ceiling, my body hollow, my chest heavier than lead. Empty in ways no words could ever explain. Until my phone had buzzed. His name lit up the screen.
I have a gift for you when you return. Can’t wait to see you. Hope you’re enjoying time with your father.
The message was followed by a photo—Elijah holding a shopping bag, smiling like nothing was wrong, like he hadn’t come to have fun with someone else.
I stared at it until my stomach twisted.
Almost immediately, another message appeared—this one from Nico.
Denise… I’ll be at the airport once you landed. I’ll wait for you.
I reached for the small gift box on the bedside table. Inside, wrapped carefully, was the tiny body of the child I had lost—my aborted baby—along with the signed divorce papers. I slipped in a letter I had written through tears, addressed to Elijah.
I closed the lid, tied the ribbon tightly, and held the box to my chest.
When a nurse entered to check on me, I stopped her. “Can you do something for me?” My voice was soft, but firm.
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Deliver this to the address in a few days—when my husband returns from his trip. Put it on the coffee table. Make sure it’s the first thing he sees when he walks in.”
I didn’t wait any longer. I gathered my suitcase, ignoring the dull pain in my abdomen, and walked straight out of the hospital without once looking back.
The airport terminal was crowded, noisy, full of lives that weren’t mine. I stood in line, my boarding pass in hand, my heart a stone in my chest.
Just as the plane’s engines roared to life, my phone buzzed again. Elijah’s name lit up the screen.
Baby, what do you say about a necklace or should I buy you a bracelet?
My fingers hovered. For a heartbeat, I almost answered. Almost. Instead, I deleted the message. Then every photo in my album. Then his number, erased from my contacts, erased from my life.
As the plane lifted off the ground, I heard it—an invisible click deep inside my chest. Something breaking. Something final.
With one motion, I deleted the last of it.
All the love I ever had for Elijah. Gone.
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