Grown apart.

Like we were two flowers leaning different ways, stretching toward different suns, nature taking its course.

Not like he yanked our roots from the soil, held them dripping and broken in his fist, then wondered why nothing greened in the dirt anymore.

I couldn’t move. All around me, people turned. Faces open, eager, hungry.

They looked at me like I was part of the floor plan — some flaw in the marble they hadn’t noticed until now. An ugly stain they didn’t know how to politely pretend wasn’t there.

I could feel it — the pity. Thick and clinging, settling over my skin like a second, unwelcome coat.

Some of them waited, eyes glinting, to see if I would break.

Would I cry? Would I cause a scene? Would I collapse neatly into the disaster they were already turning into a story for brunch tomorrow?

I stood there with my shoulders back and my head high, my fingers locked so tightly around the strap of my purse that the leather cut into my palm.

I would not give them that.

Daniel smiled.

He didn’t look at me when he did it.

He wasn’t smiling for me, or even in spite of me.

He smiled like he was standing at the start of something beautiful. Like I was already gone. Like I hadn’t spent the last seven years of my life bending myself into something small and quiet and good for him.

“I want to introduce someone important to me,” Daniel said, his voice swelling in the mic, buttery smooth and easy, like he was hosting a charity auction. “Someone who means everything to me now.”

I felt my pulse thud painfully behind my eyes, pounding against the thin veneer of calm I was fighting to maintain.

Around me, people leaned closer, their curiosity almost physical.

Sabrina was beaming from her perch at a nearby table, whispering into the ear of a woman with frosted hair and a too-tight sequined dress. They both turned to stare at me, openly now.

Daniel gestured to the edge of the stage with a practiced wave.

“This is Carly,” he said.

And there she was.

Blonde. Perfect. Radiant in a red dress that clung to her in all the ways my carefully modest gown did not.

Carly smiled — the kind of smile that didn’t reach her eyes because it didn’t have to. It was enough that everyone else was looking at her with admiration and envy.

And in the harsh, unkind light of the ballroom, I saw it clearly, the slight swell of her stomach.

Pregnant.

The word echoed in my head like a dropped glass, shattering against the inside of my skull.

“She’s pregnant,” Daniel said, grinning like he had just announced the winning lottery numbers. “With my son.”

I froze.

Everything inside me went violently still, like someone had ripped the air out of the room.

There was a smattering of applause, confused, scattered. A few claps too eager, others trailing off awkwardly.

Carly waved sweetly, her fingers glittering with rings I hadn’t seen before. She turned her cheek toward Daniel, and he kissed her right there under the spotlight.

It was a performance. A stake in the ground. A finish line with no race. He had crossed it, and I hadn’t even known we were running.

My fingers loosened around my purse without meaning to. The strap slipped slightly, dragging against the skin of my wrist. It grounded me just enough to breathe.

I blinked once. Twice.

The room blurred and sharpened.

The sting behind my eyes threatened to break free but I gritted my teeth and swallowed it down so hard it burned all the way to my stomach.

Daniel spoke again, but the words slid past me, irrelevant now.

Across the room, someone whispered, “Wasn’t she here with him?”
Another: “Poor thing.”
Another: “Well, you know. Some women just can’t keep a man.”

The words floated through the golden air like poisoned confetti. I couldn’t tell if they were talking about me or Carly. Maybe it didn’t matter anymore.

My knees locked. My hands stayed steady. My face stayed calm. Because if I cracked now, if I crumpled under the weight of everything Daniel had just smashed, they would win. They would tell the story their way.

Daniel and his new beginning.

Me, bitter and broken and forgettable.

I straightened my spine.

Raised my chin.

And stared ahead like none of it touched me.