She hurried to cover the package with her garments, then zipped the suitcase shut, looking a mix of flustered and defensive.
"Oh, um, I bought that for you—intended to wear it for you, actually. But it ended up stuck in my car's backseat, and I totally forgot about it."
Her eyes darted away, betraying her unease as she fumbled through her explanation.
Ariana seemed to forget that I'd previously complimented how lovely she looked in white lace—and how black lace wasn't really her style.
Besides, I had also made it clear that I didn't like that tacky style.
If she had genuinely bought it for me, why in the world would she choose something I didn't even like?
Her justifications felt like a flimsy veil over a truth she didn't want to confront.
Deep down, even she had to realize how absurd this all was.
I suddenly felt a tightness in my chest, unsure if it was the painkillers kicking in.
If only painkillers could heal a broken heart.
I couldn't help but wonder when exactly Ariana had started to drift away.
What had caused her change of heart?
Why was she the one who had made those vows, yet it was her who broke them first?
What had I done to deserve all of this?