My Best friend’s wife 1

Jason’s POV

You can do this. Just remember, she’s somebody else’s wife now. She belongs to someone else.

I repeated the words like a mantra, trying to quiet the storm brewing in my chest as I drove through the familiar streets of the town I once called home. My hands gripped the wheel tightly, knuckles pale. I should’ve said no. I should’ve stayed in a hotel or skipped this visit altogether. But the truth? I wanted to see her.

Alina.

My first love. My greatest regret. The reason I spent so many nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what if. What if I dared to confess my feelings to her then? Will we still be together now? What if I wasn't such a pissy then?

It’s been seven years since I left this town. Seven years since I walked away because I couldn’t stand to watch the woman I loved become someone else’s bride, my best friend’s bride.

Daniel had always known I had feelings for her. We were all friends back in college me, him, and Alina. He knew. And still, he asked her out. And she said yes. They got married right after graduation, while I packed my bags and left for the city, needing distance, needing distraction. I built a life there—good job, success, respect. But not a day passed without the thought of her slipping through the cracks.

Now here I am, back in town for a weekend visit. Daniel insisted I stay with him and Alina instead of booking a hotel. And like a fool, I agreed. Maybe a part of me hoped to see anything to give me closure. Maybe if I can see how happy she is with Daniel, my heart can finally let her go.

I pulled up to the house. Daniel’s childhood home. It looked older than I remembered, faded paint, cracked porch steps, the weight of time pressing down on the walls. Fitting, really. Some things change. Some things just wear down.

Daniel stepped out onto the porch to greet me. He looked older and tired in a way that life shouldn’t make a man look at our age. We exchanged the usual greetings, the kind between men who used to be close but now speak more out of obligation than bond. He showed me to the guest room, said I should freshen up, and mentioned lunch was ready. My heart tightened. Lunch meant I’d see her. As we walked into the dining room, Daniel turned his head toward the kitchen and called out for Alina to bring the food. The way he said it, cold, like a command, sat wrong with me. There was no warmth in his voice, no affection.

Then I smelled her before I saw her.

Lavender. Fresh linen. Warm bread. God, she still smelled like home. She walked in carrying a tray of food, and for a second, I forgot how to breathe. Her hair was longer now, pulled back in a messy bun. She still moved with the same quiet grace that made my heart stutter years ago. But her eyes, her eyes told a different story. They used to shine. Now, they looked tired, haunted as if life had chipped away at her light.

“Jason,” she said with a soft smile. “It’s so good to see you after all these years.”

I stood up quickly and stepped forward, pulling her into a hug before I could stop myself. She was warm. Real. Her scent clung to me, and I had to close my eyes just to stop myself from doing something stupid.

Get a grip, Jason.

I forced myself to let her go and pulled out a chair for her. She blushed faintly as she sat, and I swear, my heart flipped.

Lunch passed in a blur of awkward conversation and old memories. I told them about my job—how I’d climbed my way up to CFO at a major tech firm. Daniel made some snide comment, something about city boys and padded salaries, but I let it slide. I wasn’t here for him.

Alina laughed at some of my stories. The sound was soft, but it didn’t reach her eyes. That darkness lingered there, like a bruise that never healed. After the meal, Daniel stayed glued to his phone, scrolling and muttering to himself. Alina stood and began clearing the table alone.

That didn’t sit right with me.

“I’ll help,” I said, already rising to my feet.

She glanced at me, surprised. “Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

Daniel didn’t even look up.

I followed her into the kitchen, grabbing plates from the table as my chest ached with a mix of guilt, longing, and something dangerously close to hope.

She was still the same Alina.

But everything else had changed.