Tina

@sieunhandiennuoc

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The rain pelted my window as I stared at the text: “I’m marrying her, Sarah. It’s over.” My boyfriend, Nate, had gutted me after three years. His voice still lingered, promising forever over coffee in our cramped Seattle apartment. At 28, I’d poured everything into us. Dates at Pike Place, late-night talks, a ring I’d hinted at. Then, he vanished. Two months later, he wed Chloe, some polished exec he’d met at work. I sobbed, alone, my world a puddle of hurt. Six months on, my phone buzzed again: “I miss you, Sarah. Meet me. She doesn’t know.” My heart raced, fury and longing clashing. He’d ditched me, built a shiny new life. Now, he wanted me back, on the side. I gripped my mug, plotting. He’d regret this.