That night, Ethan’s phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number: “Meet me tomorrow. We need to talk.” I copied the address. The next day, I followed him. At the address, I saw him inside—talking quietly to a man. It wasn’t romantic, just tense. I left before I was seen.But when Ethan got home, he parked at my neighbor’s—Jay’s—house. I followed and heard something I’ll never forget. “You knew this wouldn’t last,” Ethan said. “You told me you loved me,” Jay replied.
“My family would never accept it,” Ethan said quietly. “Rachel is… safe.” I burst in. “You lied to me!” I shouted. He begged. I refused. “You don’t marry someone out of comfort,” I said. “You marry someone because you want to.” And Ethan—he didn’t want me. He wanted someone else. He packed and left. Later, Jay came by. Apologized. Brought tea. And I realized something: I’d lost a fiancé, but I found the truth—and maybe even a friend. Most importantly, I found myself.
