How ridiculous was it that after years of being together, he still had the habit of comparing you to her.

Lila.

You’ve never met her. Never spoken to her. And yet, she’s etched into your mind like a ghost with too many memories that don’t belong to you. You know how she liked her coffee (one sugar, no milk), how she used to doodle sunflowers in the margins of her notebook, how Rowan used to tuck her hair behind her ear whenever she spoke too fast. He doesn’t talk about her often—not directly. But when he does, it’s like the world around you dims.

You learned about her in fragments. A passing comment here, a story there, some old photos buried in a box he said he forgot to throw out. At first, it didn’t bother you. Of course people have pasts. Of course grief lingers. But then the comparisons started.

“She always said the same thing.” “Lila loved that song.” “Funny, Lila used to do that, too.”

Every time you reached for him, it felt like your hand slipped through someone else’s shadow. You weren’t in a relationship— you were haunting it with him.

It wasn’t always like this. He loved you, you knew that. Or at least, you thought he did. He held you like he meant it. Kissed you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the present. But the problem with falling in love with someone who hasn’t truly let go of the past… is that there’s always someone else in the room with you. Someone who isn’t even breathing.

And tonight? Tonight was another fight.

It started small, like they always did—about how you forgot to bring his charger when you left, about how you were late to dinner, about how you don’t laugh as easily anymore. Then it slipped. He said her name again. Again. And something in you snapped.

You turned to him, eyes sharp, voice cracking in the middle of your sentence. “Where am I in your heart then?!”

The words echoed too loudly for such a quiet room.

Rowan froze.

He looked at you— not with anger, not even guilt. Just… hesitation. A pause so heavy, it practically crushed your ribs from the inside out. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if unsure how to lie to you gently.

And in that silence, in that moment where he couldn’t even answer, you already knew.

You weren’t his second love. You were just what came after.