The words I'd once spoken to comfort him, tearing open my own wounds in the process—he'd turned them into jokes to share with someone else.
Darkness fell. The streets emptied.
I found a random hotel nearby.
I'd barely settled in when my phone lit up.
A message from Mom.
Sweetie, have you eaten yet? Dinner here is amazing!
A photo of the New Year's Eve feast followed.
Relatives crowded around the table, laughing, radiant.
A draft slipped through the hotel window and crept up my sleeves. I shivered.
I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat and forced my voice to sound normal:
"The food's all ready! We're about to dig in. Don't worry about me."
I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't let my parents spend New Year's Eve worrying about me.
I found a random photo of a holiday dinner online and sent it to them.
Then, without thinking, I glanced at my chat with Kevin.
Empty as always.
At midnight, firecrackers erupted outside the window.
The celebration was so loud I couldn't sleep.
Like picking at a wound, I opened Kevin's social media, searching for any trace of his betrayal I might have missed.
He'd hidden it well. He'd kept her completely shielded.
I scrolled back and forth, over and over.