CHAPTER 10: THE COMMENTS

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because when I opened my eyes, the room was full of gray morning light.

For a few seconds, I forgot. Then I remembered the footsteps. Back and forth. Back and forth. I turned my head toward the wall. It was quiet now.

I got up, washed my face, and put on the plain cotton dress that Mrs. Bell had left on the chair. My eyes were puffy. My hair was a mess. I tried to fix it, and gave up.

Downstairs, the house was very still. The long dining table was set for one. A single plate. A small pot of tea. The chair at the head of the table was empty.

"Mr. Ashford left at five," Mrs. Bell said, appearing at my elbow with a warm smile. "He said not to wake you."

"Five?" I looked at the clock. It was almost nine. "Did he eat?"

"Only coffee, madam. He doesn't eat much in the mornings." She hesitated. Then her voice dropped a little. "I don't think he slept at all. The light in his room was on the whole night."

I held my teacup and said nothing.

I thought about his footsteps through the wall. About the way he said *sleep anyway* in the car, like a man who knew how impossible it was. Something small and warm stirred in my chest, and I pushed it down at once.

*Don't. He's using you. Remember.*

"Thank you, Mrs. Bell," I said.

She patted my arm, the way my grandmother used to. It was such a small thing. It nearly made me cry.

I ate a piece of toast. Then, because I had to face it sooner or later, I took my phone out of my bag and turned it on.

It buzzed in my hand like a wasp. Missed calls from my mother. Texts. Notifications piling up so fast the screen shook. I opened the first one without thinking.

It was from Hannah, a girl from my old office. She was the only one who was ever kind to me there. Her message was short.

*Lila. Have you seen this? I'm so sorry. Please don't read the comments.*

Under it was a link.

My stomach went tight. I knew I should not click. I clicked anyway.

It was Sabrina's page.

The photo at the top was perfect. She sat in a garden, in a soft white dress, her head resting on Ryan's shoulder. He looked tired, but he was smiling a little, and his arm was around her. In the corner of the picture, her hand lay on her stomach. The light made everything gold.

The caption was long.

*Some hearts break, and some people rush into rebounds. We forgive. We choose love. Ryan and I are going to be parents, and we are so grateful for the family that has stood with us. Wishing Lila healing and peace. 🤍 #newbeginnings #family #grace*

Wishing Lila healing.

My hands went cold. I read the line again. And again.

She had written it so softly. So kindly. Like a saint. Like she was the one who had been hurt and was generously forgiving me for it.

And below the post, there was a video.

It was blurry and shaky, filmed from far away. A café table. A girl in a gray sweater. A man in a black suit, standing behind her with his hand on her shoulder. I heard Ryan's voice, cracking. *How could you? With my own uncle?*

It was us. Somebody at the mall had filmed us.

I did not want to look at the comments. I knew I should close the page. But my thumb moved on its own, and the words came up, one after another, like blows.

*Married her ex's UNCLE?? In one night?? 😂😂*

*Gold digger. Obviously.*

*Poor Ryan. And that sweet girl carrying his baby. Some people have no shame.*

*She saw the big money and ran. Disgusting.*

*I bet she planned the whole thing. The uncle is probably 60.*

*Imagine being so desperate.*

*Hope she's happy with her purchase.*

There were thousands of them.

I do not know how long I sat there. I only know my hands began to shake, and then my whole body, and a thick, sick feeling rose up in my throat. These were strangers. People who did not know my name, or my face, or my life. And they hated me. They hated me with such ease. Like it was fun.

*Imagine being so desperate.*

I thought of my mother. Her friends. Her neighbors, who loved gossip more than food. Every one of them had seen this already. By now, the whole town was talking about me.

I pressed my hand over my mouth.

"Madam?" Mrs. Bell was beside me again, her eyes full of worry. "Madam, what is it?"

I turned the phone around so she could see.

She read it slowly. Her mouth went flat. "I see," she said. Then she took the phone out of my hand and placed it face down on the table, very gently, like she was putting a baby to sleep.

"Don't read the comments, dear."

"It's too late."

"Then stop reading them now."

My eyes burned. "They think I'm a... that I..."

"People think many things," said Mrs. Bell. "Most of them have never been hungry, or alone, or hurt. They sit in a warm room and throw stones because it costs them nothing." She poured me more tea. Her hands were steady and warm. "You do not have to answer them. Remember that."

*You do not have to answer.*

I held the cup in both hands and breathed.

I wanted to answer. God, how I wanted to. I wanted to type for an hour. To say *she cheated with him for months.* To say *I never took a penny.* To say *he called me boring in front of everyone and I was the one who ran.* I wanted to scream the whole truth into that stupid little box.

But I thought about last night. About Damien's voice in the car. *Do not apologize.* And I thought about the girl in the bathroom mirror telling herself, *You will not give her this.*

If I replied, I would be fighting on Sabrina's ground. Her words. Her game. And she was so much better at it than I was.

So I picked up the phone, held it for a moment, and set it down again.

I did not reply.

It was the hardest thing I had done all week. Harder than throwing the ring. Harder than standing up at the table. Because staying silent while someone lies about you feels like swallowing glass.

"Good girl," Mrs. Bell said softly. Then she smiled. "Forgive an old woman. I meant, good woman."

I laughed. It came out wet and strange. But it was a laugh.

I stayed in the kitchen for a long time that morning. Mrs. Bell showed me how to make her mother's ginger tea. We did not talk about the post again. She told me about her son, who lived far away, and her garden, and the stray cat that came to her window every night. Little ordinary things. Quiet things. By ten o'clock, my hands had stopped shaking.

I thought, maybe I can get through today.

Then the phone began to ring.

I had forgotten to put it on silent. It buzzed against the wood of the table and slid in a slow circle. An unfamiliar number.

I almost ignored it. Something told me not to.

"Hello?"

"Lila." The voice was thin and tight. It took me a moment to know it. My old boss, Mr. Parker. A gentle, nervous man who once cried at a customer's wedding photos. I had never heard him sound like this.

"Mr. Parker? Is something wrong?"

"Lila, I need you to come to the office. Now." He took a breath. I heard papers shuffling, and a quiet murmur of other voices behind him. "There's a man here. He says he's a lawyer. From the Ashford family."

My heart stopped.

"He's here for Ryan Ashford," Mr. Parker whispered. "And he says it's about your job."