When Theron’s friends caught wind of our wedding, I overheard one exclaim, “You’re going to marry? Is this part of your scheme? You’ve pulled out all the stops this time!”
Back then, I had been blind to Theron's sidelong glances, confidently proclaiming, “Of course! We have been in love for six long years!”
Those words felt like nothing more than a regretful whisper when the truth lay bare before me.
Maybe I wouldn't have fallen apart if it had been just a social media post. But a week ago, I stumbled upon tens of thousands of encrypted photos in his cloud storage.
Each shot was a snapshot of Lyra’s ever-changing smile from high school to college.
My furiousness erupted like wildfire when his sea of deception was laid bare, sparking our first real argument.
He shrugged it off, insisting he had forgotten to delete the photos. But I knew it was just another lame excuse, a last-ditch effort to make me swallow his line of nonsense.
Then he turned the tables, accusing me of invading his privacy. There wasn’t a trace of remorse in his voice, nor did he offer comfort for my wounded heart.
We had been giving each other the cold shoulder for a whole week.
Out of the blue, he had proposed to me, and I took it as a sign that he was finally backing down.
I steered clear of mentioning the photos again, immediately saying yes, fearing any hesitation might make him reconsider. Eager to seize the moment, I immediately contacted the wedding planners.
The whirlwind wedding, rushed into place in three days, felt like a mad dash, but I couldn’t have been happier.
Until his social media post jolted me back to reality, I rubbed my sore eyes, fingers trembling as I hovered over the send button for a breakup message.
I typed "breakup" into the text box, but just as I was about to hit send, one of Theron's friends called me.
“Hey Avery! Theron had too much to drink and could barely stand. Can you come pick him up? I’ll text you the address,” his friend urged, sounding frantic.
Theron’s slurred voice came through the line as I listened, calling for “Lyra.” My heart clenched with a sharp, painful ache, and I struggled to comprehend the depth of my sorrow.
In a heartbeat, his friend ended the call and hung up. I took a deep breath, massaged my aching temples, and hurriedly threw on some clothes to head out.