The Fiancé Who Chose Another

Walk

ined with every fiber of my being since we were awkward teenagers. He had pursued me relentlessly in high school, showering me with attention, making me feel like the center of his universe. That first, innocent

my unwavering independence make him seek out someone weaker, someone

come home. I miss you. I-I forgive you. Just come back, and we can forget all about this. Everything will go back to norm

fficult childhood, her artistic struggles, the medical debts that were crushing her family. He painted her as a victim, a fragile bir

n. "Fine," I choked out, a raw pain tearing through me. "I'll help her. I'll pay her fam

ss" or "friend in need" emergencies. Kierra's paintings started appearing in a small, chic gallery. A

ut Kierra' s work. Jacob, fueled by alcohol and his ever-present savior complex, lunged at the man, beating him bloody in

umph and self-righteousness, I confronted him. "Did you even think about us, Jacob? About our baby? What kind of father will

cold, so unfeeling!" He started raging, smashing things in our perfectly decorated living room. A priceless vase, a wedding gift, shattered against t

be mended. But I was still so deeply in love, so des

a' s Instagram story popped up. A selfie of her beaming, nestled next to Jacob, his arm possessively around her. The caption read: "Thank you for always being my rock, my savior. Yo

y piece. He was recreating our life with her. The watch, the studio, the public displays of affection

so violently I could barely insert them into the ignition. I drove, blindly, fueled by a rage so potent it burned a

cruel counterpoint to the scene before me. Jacob and Kierra,

a strangled sob, raw w

de with feigned terror. Before I could even register what was happening, I lunged, a desperate, an

d. I stumbled, lost my footing, and fell backwards. My head hit so

ed, stark against the pristine white tiles of the studio f