Becca stepped forward, expression softening like she wanted to wrap me in an “I told you so” but with hugs and snacks.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I swallowed down the burn in my throat. “Thanks for telling me.”
She nodded, looking like she wanted to say more, but I turned and kept walking before my feelings decided to show up with a megaphone and a tear-stained monologue.
Because I wasn’t just leaving Mikel anymore.
I was leaving every lie he wrapped in cologne and half-truths.
And wow. The suitcase felt lighter. But I didn’t.
I swallowed the shock like it was a mouthful of glass. “Right. Yeah. Thanks.”
The words felt weird in my mouth—too casual, too normal, like I hadn’t just been sucker-punched with news that my ex might’ve been cheating while also turning me into a human hockey bet. Love that for me.
Becca looked relieved, like I’d just told her the test came back negative or I wasn’t mad about her ruining the surprise party. “I’m glad you’re getting out,” she said, all hopeful and supportive and clueless.
I gave her a smile that felt like it had been ironed onto my face by force. “Yep. Totally escaping. Super healthy choices over here.”
Then I turned toward the car, dragging my suitcase behind me like it had personally betrayed me. The wheels made this clunk-clunk sound that felt unnecessarily dramatic for the situation, which—honestly—only added to the vibe.
I was packing more than socks and serums. I was packing the crumbling idea of who I thought I was with him. The safety net he’d built out of charm and half-lies. The dreams I hadn’t even said out loud yet.
“Do you need help?” Becca asked gently.
“Nope.” Too fast. Too loud. “I got it.”
She stepped back, still watching me like I might crack open on the sidewalk, and to be fair… she wasn’t wrong.
I finished tossing my life into Nikolai’s trunk, slammed it shut, and slid into the passenger seat with all the grace of a crash-test dummy.
Everything felt too new in here. Too clean. The leather was cold against my skin, and I felt messy. Like my heart was a tangled ball of wires and I’d just dragged it into a place that had never seen chaos before.
Nikolai didn’t say anything.
He just stared ahead, hands on the wheel like it was the only thing holding him steady.
I didn’t say anything either. My throat was full of cotton and questions and oh-my-god-how long has he been cheating spirals.
The silence wasn’t awkward. It was worse than that.
It was understanding.
The engine hummed. My chest ached in that weird, hollow way where crying would be a relief but the tears hadn’t arrived yet.
And I just sat there.
In a car with a man who’d bet on me.
Leaving a man who never really picked me.
And all I could do was stare out the window and hope the road would carry me far enough that none of it could catch up.
I focused on the streetlights blurring past the window—bright yellow smears across the glass like someone was painting regret in real time. Each one flickered by like a bad memory with a spotlight. My heart wouldn’t shut up, thudding in my chest like it had opinions, and honestly? Same.
I felt like I was in a slow-moving disaster film. Except instead of dramatic music, there was just the quiet hum of Nikolai’s Very Serious Sports Car™ and the occasional sound of my own spiraling thoughts trying to punch their way out of my skull.
