Clare POV:
A whimpering sob came through the phone. Haylee's voice, thick with feigned tears. "Elliot, darling? My head hurts so much. I feel so dizzy."
His eyes blazed with concern. He barely registered my presence. "Haylee? Where are you? I'm coming. Don't move."
He hung up and gave me a quick pat on the head—dismissive, like a pet. "Stay here, Clare. Be a good girl. Haylee needs me." Then he sprinted down the driveway and sped off.
Moments later, a notification buzzed. Haylee had posted a photo: her looking pale and vulnerable, nestled in Elliot's arms on a velvet sofa. His hand massaged her temple. The caption read: "My darling Elliot, always there for me. The best man in the world."
I clicked 'like'.
I had liked countless posts like this over three years. Photos of them on yachts, him carrying her shopping bags, her lounging in my former marital home, replacing my belongings. She made sure I saw every one.
She thought my likes were desperate pleas for attention. But each click was my silent message: I don't care. You won nothing. You're still pathetic.
