He Broke Me For The Girl Who Bullied Me Chapter 10
Later I saw it in the news.
The Montforts and the Lockwoods had gone to war in the boardroom, and the Montforts lost. Their company filed for bankruptcy. The Lockwoods held their ground, but they took a serious hit.
When Celeste got out, she wasn’t an heiress anymore.
She was in debt. She was working minimum-wage gigs to keep herself afloat.
I only found out because I took my parents to a restaurant one evening, and the hostess at the front — standing behind the host stand in an ill-fitting black polo — was Celeste.
Her face was bare. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. It looked fixed in place.
The second she saw me, she turned and hurried inside. The manager barked at her to get back out front. She came back, cheeks burning, holding the menus tight against her chest.
I gave her one long, level look. Then looked away.
People who no longer mattered to me couldn’t hurt me anymore.
…
Time passed. I was promoted. I moved into a nicer apartment.
While I was packing up my old things, I found a photo album I didn’t recognize.
I opened it, gently.
Every photograph was of me.
Me at the freshman convocation, holding a folded speech in front of a podium. Me from behind, laughing with my roommates on the quad. Me on my little Vespa, grinning like someone had just handed me the keys to a Ferrari.
I kept turning the pages.
The photos changed. They stopped being of me alone. They started being of the two of us.
Me on Ethan’s back, throwing up a peace sign at the camera, my mouth wide open with laughter.
The moments were small. Uncomplicated. Happy.
A breeze rushed through the open window. The pages fluttered, then settled open to one photograph.
In this photograph, I was walking away from the camera — carrying a plate back from the kitchen counter, unaware.
And Ethan, facing the camera behind my back, was holding up a small velvet box. A ring inside it.
In every photo after that, he was behind me holding up the ring and grinning whenever my back was turned.
That must have been how he wanted to propose.
The very last page held a folded piece of paper.
It was yellowed. The ink still legible.
Dear Drey,
You’re asleep next to me right now. I’m writing this by the light of the little lamp on my side of the bed.
In my head, when you finally read this, we’ll be on our honeymoon.
The Amalfi Coast? Santorini?
Wherever you wanted to go, that’s where we’ll be.
I know I’m a bastard. I know I came into your life under false pretenses.
But by the time you’re reading this, you’ll have forgiven me, right? You have the biggest heart of anyone I’ve ever met.
I swear I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.
But I never forgave you, Ethan.
Some mistakes lead to others, and eventually you reach a point where there’s no way back.
I folded the letter and slid it back where it had been.
Stood there for a moment. Blinked, hard, against the sting.
Then I dropped the album into the trash.
“Drey! Let’s go!”
I called back and picked up my bag. Pulled the door quietly shut behind me.
The sun was warm outside. The magnolias were in full bloom.
Dad drove. Mom rode shotgun.
I rested my chin on my hand and looked out the window.
The streets were alive with traffic and noise. Everyone I passed seemed to be smiling or laughing at something.
Spring had come. I didn’t have to wait for the clouds to break anymore.