No Apologies, No Regrets

Fedora Smith never believed in fairytales, but she had believed in love.

She had believed in the slow burn of whispered promises, in the warmth of a hand held too long, in the quiet certainty that when you built something with someone, it was supposed to last.

But standing here—rooted in place, breath trapped in her chest, fingers trembling at her sides—she realized something cold and gut-wrenching.

Love was nothing but a carefully crafted lie.

She hadn’t even turned on the lights yet. The soft blue glow from the bedside lamp painted the room in a dim haze, but she saw enough.

She saw them.

Her boyfriend of four years, the man she had loved beyond reason, the man she had dreamt of marrying.

And her best friend of twenty-five years, the sister she never had, the one person she had trusted with her life.

Pants down. Bodies tangled. On the very same bed Fedora had bought for their anniversary.

The very same bedspread she had customized with their faces—a surprise she had planned for him. Their smiles, stitched into the soft fabric, now twisted beneath the weight of betrayal.

A sound escaped her lips, something between a gasp and a broken sob. It was small, yet it shattered the moment.

They froze.

Then—chaos.

Tyler scrambled up first, dragging the sheets to cover himself, his face twisting in frustration instead of shame. Beside him, Cynthia—her best friend—let out a curse and clutched the pillows, as if covering her bare skin could undo what had just happened.

Neither of them spoke at first.

Neither of them had the decency to look guilty.

Fedora felt her pulse hammering against her ribs, her ears ringing from the sheer weight of disbelief pressing against her chest.

“I—” Her voice cracked. She tried again. “I bought that… for you.”

She wasn’t even sure who she was talking to.

The bedsheets. The pillows. The love. The trust. The years of laughter, of sacrifice, of believing they were her people. She had given it all to them.

And they had wrecked it.

Cynthia moved first, running a hand through her messy curls, not even bothering to cover herself properly. “Fedora, look, this isn’t—”

“Don’t,” Fedora whispered, her hands fisting at her sides. “Just… don’t.”

Cynthia exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes.

Rolling. Her. Eyes.

Fedora felt something inside her snap, like glass splintering beneath too much weight.

Tyler stood, still clutching the sheet around his waist, but his expression was unreadable—no panic, no real remorse. Just mild irritation.

“I wasn’t planning for you to find out like this,” he muttered.

The words were a punch to her stomach.

Fedora let out a hollow laugh. “Oh? How exactly were you planning for me to find out, Tyler? A wedding invitation?”

Tyler flinched, but barely.

Cynthia scoffed. “Oh, come on, Fed. You’re acting like we murdered someone.”

Fedora turned slowly to face her.

Cynthia. Her best friend since childhood. The girl who had sat with her through every heartbreak, every loss, every shattered moment in her life.

And now she was looking at her like she was the unreasonable one.

“How long?” Fedora asked.

Cynthia’s jaw tightened.

“How long, Cynthia?”

Tyler sighed heavily, like he was the victim here. “Six months.”

Something inside her twisted so violently, she thought she’d vomit right there on the floor.

Six. Months.

While she was making plans. While she was dreaming of forever. While she was saving up for their future.

Fedora swallowed against the rawness in her throat.

"Why?" she croaked.

She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

Cynthia looked at Tyler first, as if waiting for him to speak, but when he didn’t, she turned back to Fedora with an exasperated sigh.

"Because, Fed," she said, tossing her hands up, "you wasted too much time. Tyler wanted commitment, and you were too busy being cautious."

Fedora blinked. "I was being careful. I was trying to build a future—for both of us."

Cynthia snorted. "Yeah? Well, I was ready. He was ready. You weren’t."

Fedora stared at her. The audacity. The sheer cruelty.

"You took what I had, what I trusted, and you—" She inhaled sharply, blinking back the burning in her eyes.

Tyler finally spoke, his voice calm and detached, as if they were discussing the weather and not her shattered heart.

“You’re not sexually attractive to me anymore, Fedora.”

The room tilted.

Fedora sucked in a sharp breath, her stomach plummeting into the abyss of his words.

Not attractive?

Not. Attractive.

She had never been insecure. Never been the kind of woman to shrink under the weight of comparison.

But in that moment, she felt small.

Unwanted.

Used.

Her mind reeled back to the girl she had been.

The girl who had been sent away at three years old because her mother couldn’t raise seven children alone.

The girl who had scrubbed floors, fetched water, and lived at the mercy of a master who never saw her as anything more than a tool.

The girl who had spent seventeen years serving, breaking, rebuilding—until she finally walked away, promising herself she would never be owned by anyone again.

She had clawed her way out of servitude.

Put herself through school.

Got an enviable job with one of the best construction companies in the city.

Met Tyler, let herself believe in something better.

In fact, meeting Tyler was the best thing that has ever happened to her. Or so she thought.

Fedora had met Tyler on a rainy evening at a bookstore, both reaching for the same novel—a book on love out of nowhere. He smiled, offering it to her, and struck up a conversation that felt effortless. Tyler Morgan was charming, confident, and driven, a financial analyst with an easy laugh and eyes that held unspoken promises. Unlike others, he admired Fedora’s resilience, often calling her “a storm wrapped in sunshine.”

For four years, he was her safe place, the man who knew her scars but never made her feel broken. He whispered forever into her ears and spoke of marriage, children, and traveling the world together. 

She had allowed him deep into her life, her family, and her only friend - Cynthia, whom she had met in the most unfortunate of circumstances. She was already serving a wealthy family in exchange for food and shelter, and Cynthia had been the daughter of that household—wealthy, privileged, and everything Fedora wasn’t. But somehow, she had chosen Fedora as her best friend.

It had started with small things: sneaking her extra food, letting her sleep inside when the weather was too harsh, and defending her when the other servants were punished. Fedora had been grateful. So grateful. She had thought of Cynthia as her saviour.

Even when they grew up, even when Fedora finally left servitude and worked her way through college, Cynthia remained by her side - always calling, checking up on her, gossiping with her, and offering financial help even when she didn't really need it. Fedora had assumed it was love, loyalty—a bond that would last forever.

And yet—here she was again.

Standing in the ruins of a life she had given her all to. She believed him— in fact, both of them—until she walked into his apartment that day. Until she saw Cynthia. Until she heard the excuses.

Tyler was the man Fedora thought she’d spend eternity with; instead, he became the reason she stopped believing in love. Cynthia was her safe haven, but she couldn't believe her eyes or ears right now! She'd been hearing of heartbreak and had seen the drama of some of it in and out of her neighborhood—even on TV. But nothing had prepared her for the kind of searing pain she was going through with the scene displayed in front of her.

Fedora lifted her chin, swallowing down the sob clawing its way up her throat. She refused to cry in front of them.

Not them.

Never them.

She turned to the door.

“Fedora,” Tyler called after her.

She paused. Not because she wanted to— but because old habits die hard.

And a part of her still wanted to believe in the man she had once loved.

But then he said, so casually, so carelessly—

“I hope we can still be friends.”

And that?

That was the final straw.

Without another word, she walked out.

And this time, she wasn’t looking back.