It was not just a fleeting crush or a passing connection. Katrina was the girl Lewis had promised his heart to, years before I ever came into the picture.
In that moment, I realized the truth. Katrina had always been in Lewis’s heart, and I was merely an interlude.
Feeling utterly humiliated, I mustered all the composure I could and said briefly, “Congratulations.”
Without waiting for a reply, I walked past her, each step heavier than the last.
But as I neared my table, a voice rang out behind me.
“Why did you push Katrina? You knew she had a twisted ankle!”
I turned, startled, to see Lewis storming toward me. His face was a mix of anger and disbelief.
“Grace, I told you I’d explain everything later. Why did you have to handle it so harshly?”
It was the first time he had ever yelled at me, and it felt like a slap across the face.
As I stared at him in disbelief, Lewis showed no sign of guilt or hesitation, just pure fury.
In the distance, Katrina hobbled toward us, her shirt rumpled and stained with water and dirt. It seemed that she fell to the ground with a dramatic thud.
I could not help but feel bewildered.
I had not bumped into her at all. How had she ended up on the floor?