Seven Years, A Cruel Lie

own life. Every object was a memory of my mother. The faded armchair she loved, the half-finished crossword on the coffee table, the

trip. The casualness of it felt like a slap in the face. Driven by a sick, churning feel

osting every detail of her life, curating the perfect image. I

home-cooked meal on a familiar-looking dining table. Two plates, two glasses of wine. The caption re

re from our apartment. The apartment Chloe and I had shared before

his face. In the background, blurred but unmistakable, was Chloe. She was in the kitchen, her back to the camera, wearing an apron I

Her promise. It was all a lie. She wasn't on a business trip. She wasn't even alone. The night my mother was dying, the

nto the floor, the phone clattering from my hand. I thought back over th

coincide with a new post from Ryan. Her sudden nostalgia for places they used to go. She always had an excuse, a plausible exp

ded someone. Chloe had called it a "step back" for our relationship. "We should be moving forward, Ethan, not you moving back into your childhood home," she

. The stable, reliable boyfriend she kept around while she was still hung up on the arrogant, ex

the long trips, the lack of glamour. "It's a nice hobby, Ethan, but it's not a real career," she would say. So, I had put my camera down. I took a stable of

ion." She'd been looking at a brochure for a luxury resort. "Ryan just got back from here," she'd said ca

a venom that targeted something else entirely. It attacked my past, my judgment, my se

her smiling profile picture one last time. The woman in the photo was a stranger. A manipulati

There was no anger left now, just a profound, chilling emptiness. I pressed down. The contact van