Chapter 2: I Don't Want to Hear That Bullshit

Emma's POV

The living room is drowning in darkness. Only my phone screen glows, casting shadows across the walls. I'm curled up on the couch, knees pressed against my chest, my body folded into itself like I'm trying to disappear.

Ryan's eighteenth unread message. My finger hovers above it, trembling. Three seconds. Five. Ten.

I don't open it.

My eyes are swollen. The tears dried up hours ago but my face still feels raw. I take a shaky breath and dial Jessica's number.

"Jess..." My voice comes out broken. "Can you come over?"

Rustling on the other end. Jessica doesn't ask questions. "Fifteen minutes."

I clutch the phone until my knuckles turn white. Ryan's name burns into my retinas. Each message feels like a knife. The pressure in my chest keeps getting heavier.

Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rings.

Jessica bursts through the door in pajamas and slippers, a coat thrown over everything. She takes one look at me and her face crumples.

"Oh my God, Emma."

She pulls me into her arms. I collapse against her.

"Tell me what happened."

The words tumble out. "There was a transfer. Fifty thousand dollars. And an email about wedding venues, florist quotes, white roses and peonies. Ashford-Martinez Wedding. And when I called him, I heard her. Sophia. Laughing."

"Slow down. Show me."

I pass her my phone with shaking hands. The transfer record. The email screenshots. Jessica frowns, scanning each image.

"I should've known, right?" The words spill out now. "A wedding planner from a broken home, barely scraping by. How could I ever fit into his world? Sophia's an architect. Beautiful. Successful. Old money. She's who he should marry."

Jessica stares at the screen. "Emma, listen. If he wanted to dump you, he wouldn't say 'For your dream.' And fifty grand? That's not breakup money. This feels more like..."

I lift my head. Hope flickers. "Like what?"

She hesitates. "Like guilt money. Or... I don't know. But you need to talk to him."

"No." The word comes out hard.

"Emma..."

"I don't want to hear it, Jess. I don't want to hear that 'it's not you, it's me' bullshit. I don't want to see him looking guilty, telling me I'll find someone better. I just want to keep what little dignity I have left."

I bury my face in my palms. Jessica sighs and pulls me close.

It's too pathetic to say out loud. I love him. I still love him. But I can't wait around to hear those words. I can't.

"Okay." Jessica's voice softens. "But you need to sleep. You look like hell."

I manage a bitter smile. "Feel like it too."

Morning light streams through the windows when I'm standing outside Ryan's apartment. I didn't sleep. Jessica's next to me with boxes and suitcases. I take a deep breath and push the door open.

The shared closet. On the right: Ryan's suits, perfectly pressed, expensive, dark. On the left: my clothes, bright colors, mostly budget brands.

My hand stops on the blue dress. I brush the fabric. Three months ago. My birthday. Ryan said, "This color matches your eyes."

He remembered my birthday. He noticed my eye color. Was any of it real?

I take a breath. Push the dress back. Turn away to pack everything else.

The movers arrive. I direct them mechanically. Two suitcases, a few boxes, one lamp. Jessica helps silently.

There's a photo frame on the nightstand. Last Christmas. Ryan's laughing, his arm around my waist. I'm leaning into him completely.

I reach for it. My fingers touch the edge. Then I stop.

Instead, I flip it over face down. Walk away.

I can't take it. If I take it, I'll never let go.

The door closes with a soft click. My hand rests on the handle. Behind me, the apartment is empty except for Ryan's things. My phone vibrates.

"Ryan ❤️"

I stare. My finger hovers over the answer button. Three seconds. Five.

I press decline.

The messages flood in.

"Emma, where are you?"

"Why won't you answer?"

"What happened? Please tell me."

"Whatever I did wrong, let me fix it."

I lean against the door, eyes closed. I can picture his face. Confused. Desperate. Panicking.

My fingers type, delete, type again.

Don't be weak. Don't give in. He's planning a wedding with her. You saw the emails. You heard her voice.

"You didn't do anything wrong. I just need to start my own life now. Thanks for the money. I'll use it well."

Send.

One second later: "What the fuck does that mean? Emma, talk to me!"

I look at that message. Tears slide down my cheeks.

Then I turn off the phone. Walk into the elevator. Don't look back.

---

One week later. The sign hangs on the door: "Clarke Wedding Planning." I'm standing outside, staring at my own name. Afternoon sun hits the letters just right.

Jessica walks up with coffee. "It's beautiful. You did it."

I force a smile. "Yeah. I did."

She studies me. I know what she sees. Five pounds lighter. Dark circles that won't disappear. A smile that doesn't reach my eyes.

"Is he still messaging you?"

I nod. Say nothing.

She doesn't push. But I know she wants to.

I've memorized every message. First week: "Where are you?" "Are you safe?" "Please, just let me know you're okay." Second week: "I miss you." "I don't understand what happened." "Talk to me, please." This week: "If you need space, I'll wait. But Emma, don't disappear completely. I won't give up on us."

I cry every time I read that last one. But I never reply. I just flip my phone face down and pretend I didn't see it.

"You still love him, don't you?"

I bite my lip, nodding. Tears come again. "But he's getting married, Jess. To Sophia. What am I supposed to do?"

"Are you sure? Did you actually see him propose?"

My voice rises. "I saw the emails. I heard her voice. What more do I need? And he gave me money to start my studio. Isn't that code for 'move on, start a new life'?"

Jessica sighs and squeezes my hand. "Okay. Okay."

She doesn't say anything else. She knows I'm not listening. Some pain you just have to carry alone.

That night, I'm lying in bed. The ceiling is stained and cracked. Nothing like Ryan's place. In the darkness, my phone screen lights up.

Ryan's message is one sentence: "I miss you. Every single day."

I stare at those words. My finger hovers above the keyboard. I want to type back. I want to say "I miss you too." I want to ask why. I want to beg for an explanation.

Just three words. That's all it takes. But then what? He tells me it's over? He explains why Sophia's better for him? I can't. I can't hear it.

I turn off the screen. Bury my face in the pillow. Cry silently.

Across the city, Ryan sits in their bedroom. The room still smells faintly of Emma's perfume. He's holding the blue dress, clutching it against his chest.

His eyes are red, bloodshot. He hasn't slept properly in a week. Every day he calls, texts. Emma never replies.

He buries his face in the fabric, closes his eyes. His knuckles are white from gripping too hard.

What did I do wrong? Why won't she talk to me? Did I push too hard? Not explain enough? Doesn't she want to be with me? Fuck.

His phone vibrates. The screen lights up.

Sophia: "Ryan, does Emma really not know what you're doing? Aren't you going to tell her the truth?"

Ryan stares at the message. He doesn't reply. He just holds the dress tighter against his chest. Closing his eyes. One tear slides down his cheek.