(Finding Forever After the Betrayal Chapter 2
I shut the door on the echoes of the party, shutting out the music and
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laughter with a pair of earbuds. My decision was made. I was going back to
Seattle, back to a life I barely remembered, a future already mapped out for me.
First, though, I had work to do. I owed that much to my team.
Curled up on the window seat, city lights twinkling below, I lost myself in
the task at hand. By the time I finished, the first rays of dawn were painting the
sky a pale orange. The music downstairs had died down, leaving an unsettling
quiet in its wake.
My fingers itched for my phone. Just a mindless scroll through social media,
a moment of peace before the storm that was sure to come. As if on cue, a
notification popped up. Hannah.
My thumb hovered over the message, a strange mix of curiosity and dread
twisting in my gut.
“Why didn’t you like my post?” The message was followed a minute later by a
flustered, “Oh, I’m so sorry, Violet, I sent that to the wrong person! Please don’t
be mad!”
I clicked on her profile, a strange sense of foreboding washing over me.
Nine photos. Nine carefully curated glimpses into a reality that felt like a
slap in the face.
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The first photo showcased a dress, a frothy explosion of pink tulle, draped
delicately across my couch. My couch. Next to it, a pair of crystal–encrusted
heels sparkled under the soft glow of the living room lamp. Aiden’s taste. Then, a
sleek, red sports car, its paint gleaming under the LA sun. Ethan.
The center photo was the one that stole my breath. Hannah, standing
between Aiden and Ethan, their arms around her, their smiles bright, easy, a
stark contrast to the icy knots in
my
stomach.
“Living my best princess life,” the caption read.
It was a blatant attempt to get a rise out of me, I knew that. Before, it would
have worked. The sight of them together, the casual intimacy, the way they
showered her with the same thoughtfulness they had once reserved for me… it
would have shattered me.
But as I stared at the photo, a strange sense of detachment settled over me. It
was like watching a movie, a tragicomedy where I was no longer part of the cast.
I tapped the screen, a single red heart appearing below the photo. Let her
have them. Let her deal with the constant push and pull, the unspoken
t
competition, the impossible choice.
The next morning, I walked into work and handed in my resignation. There
were gasps, whispers, questions I didn’t have the energy to answer. Back home, I
gathered all the photo albums, the weight of them a familiar ache in my arms.
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Years of memories, of shared laughter and inside jokes, of whispered secrets and
stolen kisses.
There we were, Aiden, Ethan, and I, frozen in time. Building pillow forts in
my childhood bedroom. Grinning at the camera, our arms laden with trophies
and medals. Posing against the backdrop of the Grand Canyon, the wind
whipping our hair, our smiles blinding.
My fingers trembled as I flicked through the pages, each image a fresh wave
of pain. It shouldn’t have hurt this much. They had made their choice.
One by one, I pulled the photos out, tossing them into a growing pile on the
floor. With a shaky breath, I grabbed my lighter.
The flame caught, licking at the edges of a picture of us at the beach, our
faces illuminated by the glow of a bonfire. I watched as the fire consumed our
smiling faces, turning them to ash. It was oddly cathartic.
“What are you doing?” Aiden’s voice, sharp with alarm, sliced through the
silence.
I looked up to see him and Ethan in the doorway, their faces etched with a
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mixture of shock and horror. Aiden’s eyes, usually so guarded, held a raw panic
that made my chest ache.
“Just getting rid of some clutter,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion.“These
were starting to mold.”
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Ethan lunged forward, reaching for the photos I held, but I tossed them into
the flames before he could grab them.“These’re our memories!” he cried, his voice
hoarse. His eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were rimmed with red.
Aiden said nothing, but the look on his face, the way he stared at the burning
photos, the muscle in his jaw ticking… it was a reflection of Ethan’s anguish.
I wanted to laugh, to scream, to shake them and shout, “Don’t you see? You did this! You threw away years of friendship, of love, for what? For her?”
But the words wouldn’t come. What was the point?
It was just a pile of photos, for god’s sake, and yet they were acting as if I’d set fire to their most prized possessions. A flieker of something cold and hard, my chest. It would something that felt suspiciously like satisfaction, unfurled in
be interesting to see how they reacted when they found out about the marriage.
The flames died down, leaving behind a pile of ash and a silence heavier
than before.
