Orla
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Surely it couldn’t be morning yet.
I groaned and reached blindly for my phone which was buzzing on the side table.
I hadn’t managed to fall asleep until two a.m., still fighting the damn time zones and absolutely not because my brain wouldn’t shut up about the man sleeping ten steps away.
And definitely not because I kept wondering whether he was awake too. Thinking about me.
I groaned, cracking one eye open and peering at the time in the corner of my phone—six a.m. But the noise wasn’t my alarm, just a notification. I rolled over, dragging the extra thick duvet and phone with me.
Gwen’s name lit up the screen in the darkness of my room. I unlocked it, still half-asleep.
Gwen:
I’ve just seen Josh’s Instagram. Are you okay?
Josh? Why would I have even seen that?
My stomach bottomed out. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, that horrible white-noise rush you get right before bad news lands. If she was asking if I was ok, this couldn’t be good.
I hadn’t thought about that prick in months.
I’d blocked him a year ago. His number, his socials, his entire smug face out of my life.
All I knew was that he’d moved on fast. New girlfriend.
Some younger, blonde girl who was far shinier and newer than I was.
Whatever. I’d convinced myself it didn’t matter anymore.
Me:
Blocked the fucker. No idea what you’re talking about.
The typing bubbles appeared. Disappeared then came back again.
For fuck’s sake, Gwen. Just spit it out.
Then the screenshot landed. I stared at it for a full thirty seconds before my brain caught up. My vision tunneled, the whole room felt darkened by a storm cloud.
It was a picture of Josh. Arm slung around her shoulders. Both of them grinning like life was perfect. In her hand, she held up a glossy black-and-white photo of a baby scan.
The phone felt heavy in my palm. My chest hollowed out, then caved in all at once.
No caption. Just a date six months from now and their stupid smug faces.
The kind of post people share when they’re proud and can’t wait to tell the world.
For a moment, I thought I might be sick.
It felt like watching someone else live the life I’d begged him to want. Of course she’d been enough for him.
He said he didn’t want kids; that was why things between us ended. It was the hill our whole relationship died on.
He couldn’t picture himself as a dad. Said he’d never want that responsibility. That I deserved someone who did. And now he’d gone and knocked her up, smiled for the camera, and posted it for the world to cheer over.
I shot upright like I’d been electrocuted. The burn started in my chest and spread through every limb, a sick mix of fury and humiliation.
What a fucking coward. Not just for leaving me, but for lying. For softening the blow with some noble excuse because he couldn’t admit the truth: I don’t want you. I felt sick with myself for believing him.
I stumbled to the bathroom, heart pounding in my ears. The cold tap rattled under my hand as I splashed water over my face again and again, droplets streaming down my neck, soaking my T-shirt. I scrubbed until my skin burned raw, but the ache in my chest didn’t budge. It just settled heavier.
Because I had to see Tyler in less than an hour.
I couldn’t. Not like this. All puffy-eyed, shaking, that raw, familiar shame dragging me down like quicksand. How was I supposed to maintain my composure and professionalism around him when I was this broken? It sent a cold jolt down my spine.
I grabbed my phone, scrolled to his name, and typed out my excuse before I could talk myself out of it.
Me:
Hi Tyler. I’m not feeling great this morning. Going to have to skip the session. I’ll get Ben to see you if you need.
The reply came in under ten seconds.
Tyler:
Are you ok? Do you need anything? Do you need me to come in? I can skip the session. Leg’s holding up today.
Of course he was being sweet. It was unfair how easy he made it to trust him. Unfair how much I wanted to. I sat down hard against the bed and typed out my reply. I kept it brief, revealing nothing about the true state I was in.
Me:
It’s ok. Just a migraine that needs sleeping off. But thanks.
Tyler:
Ok. If you’re sure. Feel better. If you need anything, just call.
My tears pricked, then. Stupid, stinging, and impossible to stop. Because he meant it. He always meant it. And that only made it worse.
Josh had lied to me so easily. But Tyler?
Sure, he was a lot—full-on, cocky, relentless—but he’d never once lied to me.
Not about the stupid things. Not about the hard things.
He never hid his feelings for me. He told me when I was the reason he tried harder.
He’d kissed me like it mattered and never pretended it didn’t.
I didn’t even know what to do with that kind of realisation. Didn’t know if I trusted it. Or if I ever would.
I threw the phone back onto the bed and curled onto my side, tears spilling hot onto the pillow.
Not because I missed Josh, he could go to hell for all I cared, but because his lies still clung to me like a stain. Proof I wasn’t the kind of woman men stayed for. Not the one they chose.
It all felt too much, the lies sinking into my skin all over again.
One wall away was a man who kept choosing me every hour of every day, whether I let him or not.
That scared me more than any lie ever had.
I pulled the duvet further over my head, hoping to shut out the entire world that felt like it had just caved in.
Because if he was telling the truth, and I still wasn't enough to make him stay, I wouldn't survive the fall this time.