“Ah, damn.” He let out a soft laugh, like I’d reminded him of something insignificant. “I forgot to make it.”
“What?” My chest constricted, disbelief mingling with hurt. “But you messaged me. You told me to come here. You should be here.”
“I know, I know,” he said, as if pacifying a child. “I’ll make it up to you. I’m at a meeting. I’ll be there soon.”
Before I could respond, a soft, feminine voice echoed faintly through the phone. “Damon, do you like crabs or grilled salmon better?”
It was Miranda.
My heart sank. He didn’t even bother to hide it anymore. There was a shuffle, as though he had cupped the phone, but her voice had already done its damage.
“Damon.” My throat felt dry. “You’re with Miranda?”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes, okay?” His words were hurried, dismissive. Then the line went dead.
I stared at my phone, disbelief freezing me in place. Damon had just lied to me—for the first time, at least outright—and it was for her. A jagged pain tore through my chest, but I held onto that fragile sliver of hope. Maybe he’d show up, make it right. He had to.
Ten minutes turned into twenty, then an hour. My hands, bare and exposed, trembled from the biting cold. I cursed myself for leaving the house without gloves. Snow began to fall, light flakes landing on my hair and lashes. My breath came out in puffs of frost as I stood there, stiff and unmoving.
The staff at the entrance stole glances at me, their expressions filled with disdain and poorly concealed amusement. They muttered amongst themselves, and though I couldn’t hear their words, their derision was obvious.
I checked my phone again. No messages, no calls. Could he be stuck in traffic? Was something holding him up? But if that were the case, why hadn’t he called or texted to let me know?
Time crawled, each minute dragging my hope further into the ground. People streamed out of the restaurant, some glancing at me curiously as I stood, a frozen statue under the falling snow. My eyes stung with unshed tears, but I refused to let them fall.
At 10 p.m., the restaurant began to close. The staff started clearing the entrance, their mocking gazes landing on me as they stepped outside.
“You claim to know him. How pathetic,” one of them sneered, her voice sharp enough to cut through the night air.
The blonde among them smirked, holding up her phone. “He’s actually having a good time with his woman right now. And here’s this poor imposter.”
Their laughter was muffled as they walked away, but their words echoed in my mind, each one a stab to my chest.
His woman?
What were they talking about?
My legs felt like lead, rooted to the icy ground as snow soaked through my shoes and numbed my toes. The cold wasn’t just on my skin; it burrowed into my bones, wrapping me in a chill that went far beyond the weather. My breath rose in wisps of frost, the night closing in around me. Then, a faint chime broke the silence. I pulled my phone from my pocket, the harsh light of the screen momentarily blinding me.
It was a notification from Instagram.
My fingers, trembling from the cold and something far deeper, swiped across the screen. The wind howled around me, but I barely noticed. My breath hitched as Miranda’s profile popped up, her latest reel sitting proudly at the top of my feed. My thumb hesitated, hovering over the video. I didn’t want to watch it, but some masochistic part of me pressed play.
The reel began with an awe-inspiring view of the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway, the tram gliding smoothly up the mountainside. Miranda’s voice filled the air, cheerful and high-pitched. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m doing this! It’s so scary, but so exciting!”
The camera panned, and there he was—Damon. His familiar, striking features etched with ease and laughter, his arm draped protectively over Miranda’s shoulder. My heart plummeted. He chuckled as she clung to him, whispering something close to her ear. She laughed, leaning into him as the tram rotated, the two of them framed by a picturesque sunset.
I gripped my phone tighter, my knuckles whitening. This wasn’t just a reel. This was my nightmare laid bare for everyone to see.
The reel transitioned to the observation deck at the Mountain Station, a golden sunset painting the horizon behind them. Miranda’s voice trembled with awe. “The view is incredible! I’ve never seen anything like it!” Damon was by her side, pointing out landmarks in the distance. His hand, so familiar, steadied her waist as she leaned forward, her smile bright and carefree.
This was the trip I’d begged Damon to take me on for years. He always had an excuse: work was too hectic, or the timing wasn’t right. I’d held onto hope, thinking one day he’d follow through. But here he was, giving her my dream. My stomach churned with a mixture of disbelief and heartbreak.
As the reel ended, Miranda’s caption caught my eye, its words searing into my brain:
"Thought I’d never experience true happiness, but my true love proved me wrong. I’m in the moon."
The ache in my chest spread, sharp and unforgiving. My frozen fingers hovered over the screen before I dropped my hand to my side. My phone dangled limply, as though it carried the weight of my crumbling world.
