The downtown coffee shop was just another Tuesday, another latte, until a voice from five years ago sliced through the mundane. Jessica, holding a ridiculously expensive handbag, scanned me with eyes full of judgment, then dropped a bombshell: Ethan, my ex, still mentioned me. He'd soared to success, made millions, yet, according to her, he never forgot "the girl who just disappeared," the one who supposedly "accused him of not understanding her." The twisted narrative continued, painting him as the heartbroken victim, me as the obsessed, unfaithful one who used him as a "substitute" for a ghost. My hand clenched on my purse, the old lies churning my stomach, the memory of public shame and private agony flickering back. But the old pain dissolved into pure clarity as I looked her straight in the eye: "I'm married, Jessica. And my son is turning four next month."
The downtown coffee shop was just another Tuesday, another latte, until a voice from five years ago sliced through the mundane.
Jessica, holding a ridiculously expensive handbag, scanned me with eyes full of judgment, then dropped a bombshell: Ethan, my ex, still mentioned me.
He'd soared to success, made millions, yet, according to her, he never forgot "the girl who just disappeared," the one who supposedly "accused him of not understanding her."
The twisted narrative continued, painting him as the heartbroken victim, me as the obsessed, unfaithful one who used him as a "substitute" for a ghost.
My hand clenched on my purse, the old lies churning my stomach, the memory of public shame and private agony flickering back.
But the old pain dissolved into pure clarity as I looked her straight in the eye: "I'm married, Jessica. And my son is turning four next month."
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