Chapter 6 - The Price of NostalgiaBy the end of the first week, the shock waves of our aborted marriage had rippled through both of our extended families.
My father had called Daniel once—just once—and the conversation had been so terrifyingly quiet that Daniel later told mutual friends he thought my dad was going to come through the phone and break his jaw.
“You had a good woman who built her life around your lies,” my father had said, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling threat. “If you ever come near my daughter again, or if you try to leak one word of your victim narrative to anyone in this town, I will personally ensure that every investor in your firm sees your bank statements.”
Daniel didn't call after that.
Instead, he tried to ambush me in the parking lot of my graphic design studio on a rainy Thursday afternoon.
I was carrying a stack of portfolio prints to my car when his sedan pulled up abruptly, blocking my exit. Daniel stepped out into the drizzle, looking disheveled. His tie was loose, his suit jacket wrinkled, and the confident, dependable aura that had fooled everyone for four years was completely gone.
“Hannah, please,” he said, taking a step toward me with his hands raised pleadingly. “Can we just talk? Just five minutes.”
I didn't drop my prints. I didn't flinch. I stood by my car door and looked at him the way one might look at a stranger asking for directions to a place they had no intention of visiting.
“There is nothing to talk about, Daniel,” I said, my voice steady. “The lawyers are handling everything.”
“You’re destroying my life over a mistake!” he hissed, frustration finally breaking through his pleading facade. “Emily was having a mental health crisis! I panicked! Anyone with a heart would have gone to her! And the money—we could have settled that quietly without dragging lawyers and courts into it!”
“You didn't panic, Daniel. You planned,” I replied coldly. “You packed your bag before the ceremony because you knew she was coming. You lied to my face while standing at the altar, and you stole thousands of dollars of my earnings to fund your backup life with your first love.”
He opened his mouth to argue, but the words caught in his throat.
May you like
“You wanted your first love back so badly?” I continued, opening my car door and sliding into the driver’s seat. “Congratulations. You’ve got her. Enjoy the wreckage.”
I pulled away, leaving him standing alone in the rain, staring after my car as the red taillights faded into the traffic.
Related Stories
