Chapter 4

Seven years together. I’d thought that would mean something that Castro would at least trust my

character.

But in Oriana’s presence, those seven years might as well have been seven minutes.

Her word alone was enough to condemn me. One accusation, and I was guilty beyond redemption.

The favoritism was unmistakable, his blind devotion to her undeniable. And me? I was just the understudy who’d forgotten her place.

There was no point in arguing further. Ignoring Castro’s angry calls, I walked away, my cheek still stinging from his slap.

Not wanting to cast a shadow over my colleagues‘ celebration, I quietly settled the bill and texted them: “Something came up. Please enjoy the rest of the evening – dinner’s on me.”

myself really seeing our apartment for the first time in

where we’d shared Sunday morning coffee, the kitchen -island where he’d taught me

magical now felt poisonous, each memory a thorn in my

“his and hers” coffee mugs that fit together, and a whole collection of professional couple photographs–holiday cards, vacation shots, carefully

my security blanket, my proof that what we

an elaborate performance.

home for

emptied the apartment. I sold or donated every piece of furniture I’d chosen, every decorative touch I’d

space returned to its original state: stark minimalist, black and white, emptiness echoing off the walls.

my departure, I tried calling him one last time. Each attempt met with

rejection.

Chapter 4

a text appeared:

your guilt and properly apologize to Oriana, we have nothing to discuss.”

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