The shopping bags dug into your forearm, filled with satin blue ribbons, ivory heels, and a perfume bottle your best friend had been eyeing for weeks. Her wedding was in two days. You should’ve been floating in that glow — the kind that only came from love in the air and champagne toast rehearsals.

Instead, you felt... off. Like something was coming.

The mall's skylights spilled warm light down the polished tiles as you stepped out of the boutique. You paused, reaching into your bag to double-check the size of the heels. And then, on instinct, you glanced over your shoulder.

There he was. Simon.

The man who left your sheets warm just two nights ago. The man who said he wasn’t good at love but somehow always came back to you like you were his only sanctuary.

But he wasn’t alone.

She was beautiful. Not just in the way she held his hand — but in the way she looked at him like she’d known his soul far longer than you ever had. Simon smiled at her, wide and genuine, the kind of smile he never wore with his mask around you.

And then it hit you.

You weren’t his peace. You were his secret.

You stood frozen, lips parting as if his name might fall out and shatter the illusion, but you said nothing. You just watched him laugh with his wife — the woman he never mentioned, the woman you didn’t know existed.

Simon turned slightly. For a heartbeat, his eyes met yours.

They widened.

You waited for guilt. An apology. Anything. But all he did was blink, drop her hand, and look away like you were a stranger passing by.

And maybe you always were.

You turned around, heels clicking faster now, each step louder than the last — away from the ribbons, the perfume, and the man who never truly belonged to you.