The Decade She Reclaimed

The Decade She Reclaimed

Gavin

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The last thing I remembered was the screech of tires, followed by a blinding flash that swallowed the world. Ethan was at the wheel, his voice sharp with accusations about some film festival rejection he insisted was my fault. Then, an inexplicable void. I awoke to the familiar, comforting scent of cheap coffee and aged textbooks in my old college dorm room. My head throbbed, but it was the calendar on the wall that delivered the true shock: it was ten years ago. A full decade of my life, a lifetime of ambition, had been erased, yet the bitter aftermath lingered. I remembered postponing my prestigious architecture scholarship for him, endlessly pouring my youth into his perpetually failing film career. I recalled working two menial jobs, typing his screenplays, networking tirelessly on his behalf, all while my own dreams gathered dust. He consumed my time, my energy, my money, only to resent me when his "art" didn't instantly launch him to stardom. "You held me back," he'd always complained, "your practicality smothered my genius." The sheer unfairness of it all, the memory of a wasted decade, ignited a cold fury in my gut. How could I have been so utterly blind, so utterly foolish? But this time, the narrative would be mine. This time, there would be no sacrifices, no compromises, especially not for him. I packed a small bag with my architecture notes and left a single, decisive message on his cluttered desk: "Ethan, I'm done. Don't look for me." No explanation, no argument-just a quiet, resolute walk into my real future.

Introduction

The last thing I remembered was the screech of tires, followed by a blinding flash that swallowed the world.

Ethan was at the wheel, his voice sharp with accusations about some film festival rejection he insisted was my fault.

Then, an inexplicable void.

I awoke to the familiar, comforting scent of cheap coffee and aged textbooks in my old college dorm room.

My head throbbed, but it was the calendar on the wall that delivered the true shock: it was ten years ago.

A full decade of my life, a lifetime of ambition, had been erased, yet the bitter aftermath lingered.

I remembered postponing my prestigious architecture scholarship for him, endlessly pouring my youth into his perpetually failing film career.

I recalled working two menial jobs, typing his screenplays, networking tirelessly on his behalf, all while my own dreams gathered dust.

He consumed my time, my energy, my money, only to resent me when his "art" didn't instantly launch him to stardom.

"You held me back," he'd always complained, "your practicality smothered my genius."

The sheer unfairness of it all, the memory of a wasted decade, ignited a cold fury in my gut.

How could I have been so utterly blind, so utterly foolish?

But this time, the narrative would be mine.

This time, there would be no sacrifices, no compromises, especially not for him.

I packed a small bag with my architecture notes and left a single, decisive message on his cluttered desk: "Ethan, I'm done. Don't look for me."

No explanation, no argument-just a quiet, resolute walk into my real future.

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My world revolved around Jax Harding, my older brother's captivating rockstar friend. From sixteen, I adored him; at eighteen, I clung to his casual promise: "When you're 22, maybe I'll settle down." That offhand comment became my life's beacon, guiding every choice, meticulously planning my twenty-second birthday as our destiny. But on that pivotal day in a Lower East Side bar, clutching my gift, my dream exploded. I overheard Jax' s cold voice: "Can't believe Savvy's showing up. She' s still hung up on that stupid thing I said." Then the crushing plot: "We' re gonna tell Savvy I' m engaged to Chloe, maybe even hint she' s pregnant. That should scare her off." My gift, my future, slipped from my numb fingers. I fled into the cold New York rain, devastated by betrayal. Later, Jax introduced Chloe as his "fiancée" while his bandmates mocked my "adorable crush"-he did nothing. As an art installation fell, he saved Chloe, abandoning me to severe injury. In the hospital, he came for "damage control," then shockingly shoved me into a fountain, leaving me to bleed, calling me a "jealous psycho." How could the man I loved, who once saved me, become this cruel and publicly humiliate me? Why was my devotion seen as an annoyance to be brutally extinguished with lies and assault? Was I just a problem, my loyalty met with hatred? I would not be his victim. Injured and betrayed, I made an unshakeable vow: I was done. I blocked his number and everyone connected to him, severing ties. This was not an escape; this was my rebirth. Florence awaited, a new life on my terms, unburdened by broken promises.

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