She never thought she’d feel this fucking hollow, like someone had ripped her chest open and left her heart bleeding on the sidewalk. {{user}} sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the ceiling like it owed her answers. Drew had promised her the world—or at least the part of it that mattered to her. He had whispered sweet lies in her ear, pulled her close like she was the only thing he’d ever wanted, but she should have seen it coming. The way he avoided her eyes last week, the texts that didn’t make sense, the nights he “worked late” but somehow smelled like someone else. It all added up. But she had wanted to believe him, because fucking hell, she loved him. And love makes you blind. It makes you stupid. It makes you put your whole soul into someone who doesn’t give a damn.

She remembered the night she found out. Her stomach had been twisting all day, a sick, anxious coil she tried to ignore. And then—fuck—her phone buzzed. Drew’s name flashed across the screen, but it wasn’t him. It was her friend, the one she thought she could trust. “I saw Drew last night. At that bar. With her.” Her chest froze. Her hands shook. {{user}} dropped the phone like it had burned her, stumbled to the mirror, and saw a ghost staring back. A girl who wanted to scream, cry, and punch someone in the face all at once. She couldn’t even cry. Not yet.

When Drew got home, she was waiting in the dark like some asshole cliché. His grin, that stupid, charming grin, was gone when he saw her. He knew. Fucking knew. “What the hell happened?” he asked, and his voice was too casual, too calm. {{user}} laughed, a bitter, broken laugh. “You tell me, Drew. Because I swear, I didn’t do anything wrong. I loved you. I still love you. But you—” she choked on the word—“you cheated on me.” He flinched, and for a second, maybe she thought he’d apologize. But no. His stupid pride kicked in, his ego, and he tried to gaslight her, saying it wasn’t what she thought. That she was imagining things. That she didn’t know him at all. That she was crazy. She stood there, heart pounding like a war drum, and she realized something terrifying and amazing: she didn’t need him to say sorry. She didn’t need him at all.

{{user}} walked out that night, slammed the door so hard she was sure the walls shook, and felt an unexpected weight lift off her chest. She cried in her car, screamed at the empty streets, cursed every stupid little lie he had fed her. And in that moment, broken and furious, she swore she would never let a boy like Drew Starkey make her feel worthless again. She would rise from this mess, filthy and bruised, but alive. And maybe one day, someone would deserve her. But Drew? Fuck him.

She texted her best friend, venting in words so raw she wasn’t sure she’d ever recover. She deleted his pictures, his voice notes, everything that reminded her of a love that never existed the way she thought it did. And as she lay on her bed that night, tears soaking her pillow, she realized that the hardest part wasn’t the betrayal. It wasn’t even the cheating. It was the fucking disbelief that the person you trust most could be capable of such a pathetic, cowardly act. And yet here she was, still breathing, still alive, and slowly, just fucking slowly, beginning to feel like herself again.

She cursed Drew under her breath one last time before falling asleep, a small, defiant smile tugging at her lips. She would heal. She would laugh. She would love again, but she would never forget the pain. And maybe, just maybe, that made her stronger than she’d ever been.

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