Never coming back

Hours slip by, and Mara still hasn’t returned.

I can’t stop wondering what she meant—what was so important that she couldn’t say over the phone.

By the time I sober up, guilt and dread hang over me like a stormcloud. I drag myself into the shower, scrub my teeth until my gums ache, and keep my hands busy by scrubbing every inch of her apartment. Anything to stop thinking about him.

But it doesn’t work.

It never works.

I open the email again. The glossy wedding invitation stares back at me, mocking me, right beside the details for that ridiculous couple-only cruise.

And then I see it.

My name, sitting where it doesn’t belong.

My stomach twists violently, and I barely make it to the bathroom before everything I’ve eaten decides it wants out.

Later, when the nausea fades and the silence of Mara’s apartment presses too heavy, I do something I swore I’d never do again.

I stalk her F******k profile.

I made the mistake of opening F******k, and that’s when it felt like the ground should split open and swallow me whole, because I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Not in this life, not even in my worst dreams, would I have ever imagined it.

His fiancée isn’t just some stranger.

It’s Clara. My cousin.

She looked so perfect. Beautiful. Everything I’m not.

For a long moment, I just stare at her glowing photos, all staged smiles and magazine-worthy angles, and the bile rises in my throat. Of all the women in the world, he chose her. My own blood. My own cousin, betraying me in the cruelest way.

Of course he left me for someone like her.

I’m chugging water, actually following Mara’s advice for once, when she finally walks in. Her nose wrinkles as she takes in the mess around the apartment, but when her eyes land on me, she only sighs and gives me a small, sad smile.

“I thought you’d be in worse shape,” she murmurs.

I lean against her shoulder and hold up the bottle like it’s a victory flag. “If I didn’t pull myself together, you would’ve done it for me. I’ve learned to pick my battles.”

“Damn straight.” She tugs at my hair lightly.

“Want to go out for dinner? There’s a new Italian bistro near my office. Everyone says their pasta is amazing.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “You hate Italian bistro food. What’s going on?”

She laughs, and for a moment I forget the wreckage inside me. She’s beautiful in a way that feels effortless, the kind of beauty that makes people stop and notice without her even trying.

And all I can think is, if I looked more like her—

I mean like my cousin Clara—

maybe Ethan would still be mine.

But the question still rings in my head. Why my cousin? Why my blood? Of all the women on this earth, it had to be her.

Mara’s smile fades, and her whole posture shifts. She exhales slowly, as if bracing herself, then meets my eyes.

“Alright, you caught me,” she says softly. “I just… I didn’t know how to put it into words.”

For a moment, she hesitates, searching my face, then her voice hardens with certainty.

“Ethan’s an asshole, Lyra. He never deserved you.”

I let out a bitter laugh. “You’ve told me that before.”

“And I meant every word,” Mara fires back. “Do you remember when he got drafted and practically forced you to move to Boston with him?”

I shake my head. “That’s not how it went.”

“But it is,” Mara presses, her eyes narrowing. “He only pushed that juice bar job on you because he thought he’d be drafted to Boston. Don’t you remember our plan? If he stayed here, we were going to split an apartment. But the moment you told him you’d be living with me, he lost it.”

I roll my eyes, forcing a shaky laugh. “He wasn’t throwing a fit, Mara. He was just… hurt.”

She scoffs, crossing her arms. “Hurt? Please. So what, he had to hurt you too?”

“Lyra, you didn’t even want to move,” Mara says firmly. “He kept you tucked away in that apartment so he could keep an eye on you. I saw you maybe twice a year, and that was only when Boston played New York.”

“That wasn’t his fault,” I argue weakly. “I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want a job. I was fine relying on him—”

“And never seeing me? You were fine with that too?” Her voice cracks, sharp and raw, but she recovers quickly.

I open my mouth to answer, to defend myself, but she cuts me off.

“That’s not even the point. The point is that I went from barely seeing you to having you here every single day. When I said you could stay as long as you want, I meant it, Lyra. I like having you here.”

Her words land heavier than I expect. My chest tightens. When was the last time someone told me they wanted me around?

Ethan never really loved me. He tolerated me, sure. But he never truly wanted me.

Mara takes my hands, her grip warm and steady, and squeezes them gently.

“I’m kinda… warming you up for something that’s gonna piss you off.”

My brows knit. “Wha—”

“I knew Ethan was getting married.” She blurts it out fast, like ripping off a bandage. Her words slice straight through me. “I found out a month ago. It’s literally my job to know these things. But you were already spiraling, and I knew if you found out, you’d do something reckless, like beg him to take you back.”

I freeze. She knew.

And worse. She’s right. But the thought claws at me, ugly and desperate. If she had told me, maybe I could have stopped it. Maybe I could’ve made him come back to me.

My chest burns, my vision blurs, and for a moment, I can’t breathe. This is her fault.

“That wasn’t your choice to make,” I whisper, my voice trembling with rage.

She nods, eyes soft but unflinching. “You’re right. It wasn’t. And I am sorry, Lyra. But you have to understand, if he left and moved on that fast, he was never coming back.”

“You don’t know that!” My voice cracks as I yank my hands away, but she holds on tighter. “Let go, Mara.”

She shakes her head. “No. Because that’s not even the thing that’s gonna make you mad.”

I stop struggling.

There’s more?

“What the hell, Mara?”

She ignores my glare and presses on.

“He’s not coming back, Lyra. You haven’t seen their pictures together… or heard how he talks about her in interviews.”

I thought the worst pain I’d ever feel was when Ethan walked out on me. I was wrong.

Because this—this feels like my chest is collapsing, like my heart is caving in on itself.

But I don’t cry. I can’t.

“Why are you telling me this, Mara?” My voice comes out as a whisper, brittle and small. My head drops, too heavy to keep upright. I can’t look at her. Shame twists inside me like a knife.

She squeezes my hands tighter. “Because you are worth so much more than that bastard you chained yourself to for thirteen years. And if you can’t believe it yet, then at least believe me when I say this: I will never lie to you, Lyra. Not ever. Even if I sometimes hide the truth to protect you.”

Mara exhales sharply, the sound cutting through the room.

“Lyra… do you remember Ethan’s boss? The one who practically runs the entire music scene like it’s his kingdom?”

I nod slowly. Of course I remember him. Everyone does. But I have no idea why she’s bringing him up now.

Her gaze hardens for a moment before softening again. “He once told me he was thinking about marriage. Said he didn’t want someone flashy or loud. He wanted a softer woman, someone beta, someone who wouldn’t compete with him but balance him out.”

The words hit me like a stone in the chest. My stomach twists, a sick feeling rising as I realize where this is going.

Mara hesitates, then forces a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“On a scale of one to Hades’s asshole… how mad would you be if I told you he was considering you for that?”