Why didn’t you buy a ring instead of a key?
Each sentence is a new blade, carving through the carefully built narrative I’d wrapped myself in for a year.
So I do the only thing that makes sense.
I leave.
The gym smells like suffering. Sweat, rubber, testosterone, and a hint of rage. The clang of iron, the raw grind of muscle, the way pain is earned here—it’s the only thing that makes sense right now.
I throw myself into the bench press. Bad Omens blasts through my headphones, giving my fury a soundtrack. The bar is heavier than it should be. Doesn’t matter. I press through it anyway, chasing the pain.
The bar locks into place with a satisfying clang. Chest heaving, I sit up and wipe my face. The sting helps. So does the burn.
But Chloe’s voice slices through the noise.
You were safe.
You never really saw me.
She’s not wrong.
I didn’t picture kids. Or marriage. Or even us ten years from now. I pictured Sunday night takeout. Matching Netflix queues. A clean, domestic kind of loneliness that didn’t ask for anything more than maintenance.
That’s the real betrayal.
Not hers.
Mine.
I lift, again and again, until my arms shake.
Would I have listened, if Chloe told me she wasn’t happy? Would I have changed? Or would I have plastered over the cracks and called it progress?
The question hurts me more than I expect. I drop the bar. And for the first time this week, I breathe without anger.
What I feel instead… is clarity.
This was never just about her cheating. It was about us never reallybeing. Just performing.
A compiled slideshow of a relationship. Whatever I thought I was building before—it wasn’t a life. It was a well-decorated holding pattern.
And now that it’s over, I want the real thing.
Whatever that looks like.
Whenever that happens.
Whoever it’s with.
CHAPTER 10
THE BOY BAND BLOODBATH
RORIE
The place smellslike cheap beer and impending triumph.
Jeremy promised nachos. What he failed to mention was the pub trivia night, complete with a tragically regrettable team name, and a bar full of overconfident corporate bros who think quotingThe West Wingmakes them intellectuals.
