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View MoreThe doorbell jiggles—three short, impatient rings that yank me out of my spiral. I freeze on the couch, tissues balled in my fist, mascara tracks dried on my cheeks. Who the hell is that? My stomach drops. Landlady, probably. Rent was due four days ago, and I haven’t answered her texts. I haven’t answered anyone. I stopped going to work last week, called in “sick” until my voice cracked, and now I’m pretty sure I’m fired. Money’s gone, pride’s gone, everything’s gone.I sigh, heavy and defeated, drag myself up, and shuffle to the door. My oversized T-shirt—Noah’s old one, because apparently I’m still punishing myself—hangs off one shoulder, and my shorts are wrinkled from days of wear. I don’t care. I crack the door open, ready to beg for an extension.It’s not the landlady.It’s Derick.My breath catches. He’s standing there in a charcoal suit, tie loosened, top buttons undone, looking like he walked straight out of the wedding reception. Dark hair tousled, jaw sharp, those green eye
I can’t believe this is happening. Two weeks. It’s only been two goddamn weeks since Noah shattered my world, and here I am, curled up on the couch, staring at the TV screen like some pathetic masochist. The live stream of his wedding—his wedding to her—plays out in high definition, every pixel a knife twisting in my gut. There they are, Noah and that bitch from high school, the one who made my teenage years a living hell. She bullied me relentlessly—tripping me in the halls, spreading rumors about me being easy, stealing my homework just to watch me fail. And now? She’s the one in the white dress, smiling up at him like she owns him. It should be me. It was supposed to be me.Tears blur my vision as I watch them exchange vows. His voice, that deep, smooth timbre that used to whisper promises in my ear during our late-night sessions, now pledges forever to her. “I do,” he says, and I feel it like a punch. A sob rips from my throat, raw and ugly. I grab another tissue from the box besi
I stared at my phone one last time before hitting send on the payment. Four hundred dollars were gone in a blink, but my finger didn’t hesitate. This was for me. Strength. Confidence. A new start.The first session was scheduled for Monday morning, before the kids woke up for school. I dropped them at the sitter’s, heart pounding the whole drive to the gym. I’d chosen workout clothes carefully—black leggings that hugged my hips and thighs, a loose tank top that dipped just low enough to show the curve of my cleavage. Nothing flashy, but I felt… noticed. Sexy, even. It had been years since I’d felt that.When I walked in, he was already there. Ethan. Twenty-one, lean muscle packed tight under a fitted gray T-shirt, dark hair tied back in a small bun, dimples flashing as he smiled and extended his hand.“Elena? I’m Ethan. Ready to work?”His grip was warm, firm, lingering a second longer than professional. My stomach flipped. Up close, he smelled like clean soap and faint cologne—someth
Elena sat cross-legged on the floor, her fingers absently twisting the hem of her faded T-shirt as her friends chattered around her. Maria leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with that familiar mix of concern and enthusiasm, and placed a warm hand on Elena’s knee. “Girl, you’re only forty-one. Look at you—those curves, that smile. You’re too beautiful to be wasting away like this. You could get married again in a heartbeat.”Elena forced a small laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She tucked a strand of her dark, wavy hair behind her ear, feeling the weight of their gazes. “Married? Please. After what happened, I’m done with that mess.” Her voice cracked just a little, and she swallowed hard, blinking away the sting.Tasha nodded vigorously, crossing her arms over her chest. “Exactly why you need to get out there. Start with something for you. Hit the gym—tone up, feel strong again. It’ll boost your confidence, and who knows? You might meet someone who actually deserves you.” She wigg












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