The Gift Of Rejection

Today is my anniversary with my boyfriend, Jason. We’ve been together for eight years now, and in those eight years, we have loved each other passionately, fiercely, and through every storm imaginable. But today feels different. Today, I woke up with the certainty that my dream of becoming his wife is finally going to come true.On this day, I didn't just hope; I prayed. I sent every silent plea into the universe that the wait was over. Jason invited me for a date tonight—a special one—and I have a very, very good feeling that he’s going to propose."He has to," I said confidentially to my reflection, the words hanging heavy in the scented air of my bedroom.I stared at the woman in the mirror, wondering if tonight I would finally become his wife. I didn't just want to be his girlfriend tonight; I wanted to look like the woman who would stand beside him for the rest of his life. I prepared myself for the date with the precision of a soldier going into battle. I picked the best dress

I looked at him with disgust and helplessness, my entire body vibrating with a frequency that felt like it was going to shatter my bones."You're invited."The words hung in the air, toxic and absurd. He wasn't just breaking my heart; he was mocking the wreckage. He was dancing on the grave of a future he had promised me.I stared at his face—that handsome, chiseled face I had kissed a thousand times, the face I had memorized in the dark—and I didn't recognize him. He looked like a stranger. No, he looked like a monster wearing a Jason mask."You are wicked," I whispered, the air leaving my lungs in a rush. "You are actually evil."Tears were rolling down my cheeks now, hot and fast, blurring my vision until the candlelight of the restaurant smeared into jagged streaks of gold. Jason didn't even blink. He just sat there, adjusting his cufflink, waiting for me to leave so he could probably order a celebratory drink.Jason is very wicked. That was the only thought my brain could process

You're pregnant. The word bounced around my skull, mocking me as I made my way to the hospital exit. How? How could the universe be this cruel? How could I be carrying the child of a man who had just pledged his life and soul to another woman? A man who had looked me in the eye, handed me a cheque like I was a laid-off employee, and told me I wasn't the one for him. I looked down at my stomach. It was flat, there was no bump, no sign of life, yet inside, a tiny cluster of cells was dividing, knitting itself into a person. I stumbled toward the car park, my legs feeling like they belonged to someone else. I sat in the driver’s seat of my car, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white. My first instinct, the one born of fear and habit, was to terminate it. The thought rose up, dark and familiar. Go back inside, a voice whispered and schedule an appointment. Erase the mistake, you’ve done it before. Tears pricked my eyes, hot and fast. Six times. I had done it s

This is the exact, terrifying reason why every cell in my body screamed against coming to London.I sat frozen in the plush velvet seat of the auditorium, my breath hitching in a throat that felt like it had been stuffed with cotton. My hands were gripping the armrests so tightly that my knuckles were stark white, protruding against the skin. I was wearing oversized sunglasses, a scarf wrapped loosely around my neck and chin, trying to make myself invisible. Trying to shrink until I was nothing but a speck of dust in the back row.But I couldn't shrink the boy on the stage.Freddo stood under the harsh glare of the spotlight, his small hands clasped behind his back in that serious, contemplative way he had and standing just a few feet away from him, holding the microphone, was Jason.The resemblance wasn't just striking; it was violent.It was like looking at a photograph and its negative. They had the same hairline—that distinct widow's peak that I used to kiss when Jason and I were

Jason stood across from me, his chest heaving, his eyes wild with a desperation I had never seen in him before. This wasn't the composed billionaire who had graced the stage an hour ago. This was a man whose carefully constructed reality was cracking."Evelyn," he said, his voice dropping, losing its commanding edge. "I know I hurt you a lot. I know I was cruel. But you cannot keep my blood away from me. Please."The word blood hung in the air like a curse.I looked at him, really looked at him, and all I saw was a stranger wearing the face of the man I used to worship."Jason, you're married, right?" I asked. My voice was quiet, deadly calm. I needed him to say it. I needed him to acknowledge the life he had chosen over ours.He flinched, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, messing it up. "Yes," he admitted, his gaze dropping to the floor. "But...""But what?" I pressed. "Go home to your wife, Jason. Go home to the family you built on the ashes of my heart.""I can't!"