Chapter Twenty Six
Present Day
The bus was basically empty, a lonely beast growling through the nothingness.
I slumped in a window seat in the back, my suitcase hogging the spot next to me like a bodyguard.
Outside was pure black—no stars, no town lights, just a void that went on forever.
It was the kind of darkness that makes you feel tiny.
My heartache, which had felt like a world-ending event just hours ago, suddenly seemed ridiculous.
We’re all just blips. The universe doesn’t care about your broken heart.
Wedding convenience.
The words weren’t a knife anymore. They were a stone I’d swallowed.
Heavy. Factual. It didn’t even hurt in a sharp way; it just sat there, a final, awful truth.
Of course that’s all it was. The fairy-tale stuff—the lake, the way he looked at me, the feeling of being seen—that was just set dressing.
I was a familiar, convenient plot device in his sister’s wedding week.
The real punchline was how completely I’d bought it.
Somewhere past a sign for some town I’d never heard of, a weird numbness set in.
The crying was done. Now there was just…
quiet. My hands didn’t even shake as I pulled out my phone.
His name was right there. Theo. Just seeing it did that stupid flip thing in my chest, which just proved how pathetic I was.
I didn’t hesitate this time. I tapped Block contact, then Delete conversation.
It was like pulling a plug. The drama drained out, leaving behind a flat, empty silence.
No more waiting for a text. No more hoping. It was clean. It was over.
The bus driver had the radio on—some call-in show about love.
I snorted, a dry, ugly sound. I jammed my earbuds in and found my “Angsty Girl Rock” playlist, the one Theo used to tease me about.
Bring Me The Horizon started screaming about sorrow, and for once, it didn’t feel dramatic. It felt accurate.
The airport at 2 a.m. is a special kind of lonely.
Everything was closed, the lights were too bright, and everyone else looked just as hollowed out as I felt.
I bought a coffee from a machine that hissed like it was judging me.
I didn’t drink it. I just held the cup for a while, watching the steam die, until it was as cold as I was.
At the gate, I stared at my phone. A tiny, stupid part of me—the part that still believed in grand gestures—wondered if he’d find a way. An email. A message through Sloane. Something. The screen stayed black. The silence was its own answer. You were right to leave.
On the plane, I was stuck in the middle seat. The guy on the aisle smelled like a cologne counter, and the kid by the window was already snoring. Trapped. I pulled out my laptop. The cursor blinked on a blank page, mocking me.
I started typing.
Things I Learned at the Wedding:
It’s okay to take up space.
Theo knows the words to “Bitch.”
Great sex is actually a thing.
I think it’s more than a crush now.
I need to go back to therapy.
Hindsight is 20/20.
Sometimes being seen is more terrifying than being invisible.
Asking for what you want is the hardest thing in the world.
Love isn’t always enough.
You can be someone’s ‘nothing’ and still have them be your everything.
I stared at number ten. My finger hovered over the delete key. I let it stay. Truth hurts. Might as well write it down.
The businessman’s elbow jabbed into my ribs as he reached for his bag. I slammed the laptop shut. Some truths are too raw for words. Not yet.
The flight was uneventful. I slept, but it was the thick, dead sleep of total exhaustion, not rest. I woke up with a stiff neck and that same heavy stone in my gut as the wheels touched down. The cheerful bing of the seatbelt sign felt like a personal insult.
My apartment was a time capsule. The bowl from my rushed breakfast before the trip was still in the sink. My book was splayed open on the couch, forever paused on page 247. Thelma and Louise, my indestructible carnival goldfish, swam lazy circles in their tank. Everything was exactly the same.
I was completely, irreversibly different.
I stood in the doorway for a long minute, suitcase at my feet. This was supposed to be my sanctuary. It just felt… empty. A stage set for a life that didn’t fit anymore.
I moved on autopilot. Unpacked. The blue satin dress was a crumpled, sad thing. It still smelled like gardenias and champagne and regret. I shoved it into the dark recesses of my closet. Out of sight, but not out of mind. Probably never.
I started doing laundry. The familiar rumble of the machine was supposed to be comforting. It just sounded loud.
I fed the fish. “Hey, girls,” I croaked. My voice was wrecked. “Miss me?” They swam upwards, mouths gaping at the surface. They didn’t answer. They didn’t lie. They were perfect.
I needed to sleep. I needed to eat. I needed to shower and wash the last week off my skin.
Instead, I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at a crack in the wall I’d never noticed before.
My heart didn’t just hurt. It felt… bruised.
A deep, physical ache right in the center of my chest that no amount of deep breathing could touch.
All those rom-coms I devoured growing up got it wrong.
They show you the crying and the ice cream.
They don’t show you this—the hollowed-out silence, the nausea of loss, the terrifying quiet of a future that just… stretches on, colorless.
I had felt it. Pure, unadulterated, true love. For six days.
And then it was gone.
Today was Day One of A.T. After Theo. The Before was gone. The During was a fever dream. This was the After.
So I did what I knew. I wrapped myself in my rattiest blanket, grabbed a pint of Ben Jerry’s “Chubby Hubby” (the irony wasn’t lost on me), and put on Dirty Dancing. I was just getting to the best part—Nobody puts Baby in a corner—when my phone rang.
Sloane.
My stomach lurched. I’d planned on avoiding anything Theo-adjacent today, but… I’d left her wedding. I owed her.
“Hey Sloane.” I tried to sound normal. I sounded exhausted.
“You’re home safe?” Her voice was tight.
Guilt, cold and sharp. I hadn’t even texted her. “Yeah. Sorry. Long night. Are you heading out soon?”
She sighed, heavy and sad. “Yes, but you know that’s not why I called.”
Of course I knew. “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, the words firmer than I felt. She was always telling me to ask for what I needed. Well, I needed not to pick at this wound.
She was quiet for a beat. “Okay,” she finally said, but it was small. Hurt. “I won’t make you.”
And that broke me more than anything. If I’d broken us… “I’m so sorry,” I whispered, tears spilling over.
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Now she was crying too. I could hear it.
“I made you cry on your wedding day.”
“No,” she sniffled. “Jasper says… Jasper says I have to take a step back. Let you both figure this out.”
“There’s nothing to figure out. We just need to… heal.” I gulped. “As long as you know you’re always my best friend.”
“Always.” Another sob escaped my throat. “I have to go. I’ll call you when I get back.”
She hung up before I could say goodbye.
Fuck.
It was all a mess. A beautiful, catastrophic mess.
I turned off the TV. The silence rushed back in. I pulled the blanket over my head, a cave of fleece and grief, and I let it have me. All of it. The humiliation. The loss. The love that felt so real it left a phantom limb.
I gave myself today. Day One of A.T.
Tomorrow, I’d get up. I’d write an article. I’d buy groceries. I’d function.
But today, I was allowed to be broken.
My phone buzzed, muffled under the blanket. I ignored it. If it was Sloane, I’d call back later. If it was work, they could wait.
If it was Theo… it couldn’t be.
I’d made sure of that.
I closed my eyes and tried to remember what my life felt like before Harrison Falls. Before the truck broke down. Before the shared bed and the secret spot and the way he said my name.
I couldn’t.
There was only Before Theo and After Theo.
And I was living in the After.