"Once my company goes public, Sophie," he said, "I'll give you the grandest wedding the world has ever seen."
Swept away by his ambition and his sweet promises, I went to the department office the very next day and signed the waiver, relinquishing my guaranteed graduate spot.
My advisor, Professor Nicholas, was furious—practically ready to disown me. I was gambling with my future, he said.
But back then, my whole world revolved around Adam. To me, sacrificing for love was the noblest thing in the world.
Mary’s social media, however, told a different story.
"Adam says he’s almost convinced my sister to give up her spot," she posted. "I feel a little bad for her, but for our love, someone has to make a sacrifice, right?"
So my earth-shattering sacrifice was merely a stepping stone for their sordid affair.
An icy chill shot through me, absolute and deep.
Her feed overflowed with photos of them together.
While I was visiting my parents, they were catching a midnight movie. During my training trip, they strolled through an amusement park like any happy couple. And while I pulled all-nighters for company projects, they were embracing in the wedding home I’d decorated with my own hands.
One photo stood out. The backdrop was our wedding home’s bedroom—the very bed I had chosen with such care.
Mary wore Adam’s white dress shirt, her hair slightly damp, leaning lazily against his chest with a smile like the cat that got the cream.
The caption read: "Getting a little preview of being the lady of the house. Feels good."
The date? The night I was away at an industry conference in the neighboring city.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I rushed to the bathroom, sank to my knees, and retched beside the toilet until my vision blurred—as if I could purge not just six years of love and trust, but my very guts along with them.
In the mirror, my face was ghostly pale, eyes bloodshot. A lost soul. A wandering ghost trapped in the world of the living.
