The same man who had once sworn his devotion to me was now lavishing all the tenderness and care he had promised me upon someone else. It felt like a cruel twist of fate, a harsh reminder of how swiftly and completely things could change.
My place in Oliver’s life, once so secure and cherished, had been replaced with this new reality. His affection for Abigail was a stark, painful contrast to the devotion he had once claimed to have for me. It was as if all those promises and vows had been nothing but fleeting shadows, dissipating into the bright light of his newfound happiness. How sweet. How ironic.
“It’s not your fault, Honey,” said my mother, smoothing Abigail’s hair. “She’s just an outsider. She’s the mistress. She doesn’t deserve to be loved, so don’t feel guilty about her.”
Yep. That was me. The outsider. The one who never quite fit in, no matter how hard I tried. I was the abandoned child, left to navigate life’s complexities on my own. In a world that seemed to revolve around connections and belonging, I felt like I was perpetually on the outside looking in.