Four weeks into our shared life, I met with my lawyer and went through the numbers. The debt hadn't magically disappeared. I still owed a mountain. The studio, the engagement, the proposal where I flew in her friends. Every bit of it still weighed on me. Solutions were laid out. Hard ones. I was going to have to work overtime. Maybe sell the car. Cut my expenses in half.
I left the office with a migraine and a hole in my chest. I drove back to the apartment—ourapartment. Except it wasn't ours anymore.
When I stepped inside, it was too quiet. Too empty. And then I saw it.
The key and the ring. Side by side. Like punctuation at the end of a love letter. The ring—yellow diamond. Because she was sunshine. Because when I gave it to her, I told her, "You don'tneed white diamonds when you already shine brighter than gold." She wore it every day. Even after she canceled. Until now.
And just like that, the bubble popped.
All at once, the truth came crashing in. This wasn't about Selene. It never was. I missed June like breath. Like heartbeat. Like home.
I traded the sun for a fading spark, and now I was burned.
I held the ring in my palm, its weight suddenly unbearable. That yellow diamond—so bright, so full of meaning—used to feel like sunlight captured just for her. Forus. It was never just a piece of jewellery. It was a promise. A future. A symbol of everything I thought I was capable of giving. Now it felt like evidence. Proof that I once held something golden, and I let it slip right through my hands.
I sank to my knees and I stared at it until my vision blurred. All I could think about was how carefully she must've set it down. How quiet her goodbye must've been. No screaming. No shattered glass. Just... this. The ring. The key, and the ghost of everything we were supposed to be.
That was when it hit me—not like a gentle ache, but like a crash. A violent, bone-deep understanding. In the span of two months, I hadn't just made a mistake. I had dismantled a life. And I wouldn't be paying for it in bills or overtime or loans. No. I'd be paying for it in silence.
In the echo of her laugh that doesn't fill this apartment anymore.
In the absence of sunshine.
In the hollow of my chest every time I reach for her out of habit and find air.
I didn't just lose June. I lost the version of myself who was good enough to be loved by her. My chest tightened, and I clutched it with both hands, trying to keep myself from falling apart
OH GOD! Oh God! Oh God! What did I do?
What did I do? What the hell did I do?
Chapter Nine: Dancing Through the Pain
I opened my eyes to a ceiling that wasn't mine. Quiet. Still. A guest room in my father's home that smelled faintly of lemon balm and old books. The morning sun filtered through the curtains in soft lines, and all I could do was lie there and let the weight of what todaywascrush me in silence.Today was the day I was supposed to get married.
I didn't move. My heart moved enough for the rest of me, aching, unraveling.
My phone buzzed, a series of messages one after another. I ignored them for a few minutes before reaching over with a heavy arm and unlocking the screen.
May:"I know today feels like a grave, babe. But even flowers grow out of those. Sending you all the love I can paint into the world."
December:"I'm thinking of you every second. You don't have to do anything today. Just breathe, love. That's enough."
March:"My bike and I are revving in your honor. Honk if you need me to kidnap you for a road trip. Or ice cream. Or vengeance. All valid."
January:"I love you, but I'm not going to coddle you. You were about to marry a man who was never in your league. That's not romantic, June—it's tragic. So grieve if you have to, but don't you dare shrink yourself to fit the memory of someone so profoundly average. You're not disposable, but he sure is trash."
I dropped the phone against my chest and stared at the ceiling again, lips trembling. They all knew today would wreck me. And it did. It absolutely did. I must have been lying there for hours before the door creaked open.
Dad didn't knock. He never did when I was small and crying behind the door. He just came in and sat beside me, like gravity had called him too.
"You ever heard a tree crack in the middle of a storm?" he asked. "It sounds like the world splitting in half. But it's just making room for new branches."
He ran his hand through my hair. That same callused palm that used to tie my shoelaces and brush back jelly-sticky bangs.
"Heartbreak," he said slowly, "is part of life. It's cruel. Unfair. It doesn't wait for you to be ready. It just takes. But it also shows you where your heart lived. Where itburned. And that's not nothing."
I sniffed. My voice cracked. "Your heartbreak was worse."
