Livestream

The wine had gone straight to my head, turning the afternoon into a soft, golden blur. Mia was still in the plunge pool, floating on her back, one hand lazily trailing circles in the water while the other clutched the now-empty rosé bottle like a scepter. She looked like she’d been born for this exact moment, sun-kissed, unbothered, radiating the kind of effortless joy I used to have before everything cracked open.

I sat on the edge of the lounge, bare feet dangling in the cool water, Julian’s stolen shirt hidden beneath the white robe. Every shift of the fabric against my skin reminded me of him, his hands, his mouth, the way he’d held me like I was something sacred and dangerous at the same time. My body still hummed with the aftershocks, sore in the best possible way, but the high was fading, and in its place came the familiar, unwelcome visitor: memory.

Mia noticed the shift in my face the second it happened. She rolled over, swimming to the edge with powerful kicks that sent ripples across the turquoise surface. “Okay, glow girl. You were practically levitating two seconds ago. Now you look like someone just kicked your puppy. Talk to me. Is it Chad again?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. Just… replaying it. All of it.”

She hoisted herself out of the pool in one fluid motion, water streaming down her legs like liquid diamonds. She grabbed a towel, wrapped it around her waist, and dropped onto the lounge beside me. “Tell me. Get it out. Let it bleed so it can finally heal.”

I stared at the horizon where the ocean kissed the sky, endless blue swallowing itself. The words came slow at first, then faster, like a dam finally giving way.

“It was our four-year anniversary. Three years dating, one year engaged. I’d planned everything, candles on the balcony, his favorite steak, that cabernet we had on our first date chilling in ice. I even bought a new dress. Red. The kind that makes you feel like a goddess. I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to feel like we were still us.”

Mia stayed quiet, letting me breathe through it.

“He came home late. Kissed my cheek instead of my lips. Said, ‘We need to talk.’ Then he picked up his phone, fiddled with it for a second, and turned on I*******m Live. He looked at me with this weird smile and said, ‘Come sit beside me.’ My heart raced, I thought maybe he wanted to announce the wedding. He’d been shifting the date for months, always some excuse about work or timing. Stupid, right? I sat down, smiling, excited.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

“But instead, with the viewer counting climbing, hundreds, then thousands, he said, ‘Hey everyone. I need to be honest. Lila and I… we’re over. It’s been coming for a while. I love her, but not like that. Not anymore. I wish her the best.’ He went on about wanting adventure, passion, someone else.”

Her jaw tightened. “Vanessa.”

I nodded. “He swore it wasn’t physical. Not yet. But he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He needed to ‘see where it went.’ On our anniversary. On the night I’d spent hours making sure everything was perfect.”

Mia’s fingers curled into the towel. “What a fucking coward.”

I laughed, bitter and small. “That’s not even the worst part.”

She waited.

“I sat frozen, staring at the screen as the comments exploded: shock, pity, memes. ‘OMG what?!’ ‘Poor Lila!’ And the cruel ones: ‘She looks so shocked lol.’ ‘Bet she saw it coming.’ A few felt pity: ‘Heartbreaking. Hang in there, girl.’ I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, just watched strangers make fun of me in real time. Finally, I stood, legs heavy like lead, heart shattering, and walked out with a heavy heart and heavier legs, slamming the bedroom door. He didn’t follow. He stayed busy entertaining those on the live stream, answering questions, liking comments, like it was a Q&A session instead of the end of us.”

By morning, it had millions of views. Strangers dissected my pain like it was entertainment. I woke up to a phone full of notifications, some supportive, most cruel. “She must’ve done something wrong.” “Bet she’s crying into her wine right now.” “Chad did her a favor.”

I curled into myself on that same couch, sobbing until I couldn’t breathe. Mia showed up an hour later with takeout and tequila, kicked the door open, and held me while I shattered.

Mia reached over now, squeezing my knee. “He could’ve just broken up with you. Quietly. Privately. Like a decent human being. He didn’t have to turn your heartbreak into content.”

I nodded, throat tight. “That’s the part I still don’t understand. He knew I hated social media drama. I’ve always been the quiet one, private, low-key. He was the one who loved the likes, the stories, the attention. But couples break up every day without recording it. Without turning it into a spectacle. Why did he need to do that to me?”

Mia’s voice softened. “Because he’s a narcissist. Because he wanted sympathy. The clout. The narrative where he’s the brave one ‘being honest.’ And you were collateral damage.”

I let out a shaky breath. “I keep replaying it, wondering if I missed signs. If I wasn’t enough. If I was too much. Too comfortable. Too boring.”

“Stop.” Mia’s tone was fierce. “You were enough. You were more than enough. Chad didn’t leave because you weren’t amazing. He left because he’s weak. Because he couldn’t handle a woman who actually had depth. He wanted it easy. Surface-level. Vanessa’s probably posting thirst traps and calling it a personality.”

I managed a small laugh. “Probably.”

Mia leaned closer, voice dropping. “Last night? That man, the one who worshiped you, who took his time, who made you feel like the only woman in the universe? That wasn’t rebound sex. That was you taking your power back. You glowed this morning because someone saw you. Really saw you. And wanted you. Not for likes. Not for content. Just… you.”

I looked down at the robe, at the hidden shirt beneath it. The ache between my legs flared again, warm and insistent. A reminder that last night had been real. Intense. Transformative.

“I still don’t know his name,” I whispered.

Mia grinned. “You don’t need to. You got what you needed. A reminder that you’re desirable. Powerful. Worth every second of worship.”

She stood, stretching like a cat in the sun. “Now come on. We’re not wasting another minute on Chad Hayes. Shower. Bikini. More wine. We’re on vacation, and you’re officially too hot to be sad.”

I smiled, real this time, small but real.

She was right. Chad had taken four years of my life and turned my heartbreak into a viral moment.

But last night? Last night was mine.