Chapter 3: Shattered Dignity

Evan’s words, every one, were like a slow, twisting knife.

I replayed them over and over in my mind, each time cutting deeper. I was so raw I could barely breathe.

They completely destroyed my dignity.

It felt like I’d been stripped bare in the middle of a crowded football field. I glanced up at the ceiling fan, wondering if I should just end it all.

The fan spun lazily, indifferent to my pain, and for a split second, the world seemed so simple—just stop spinning.

But I didn’t have the nerve to face Mom in the afterlife.

I could see her, arms folded, disappointment written all over her face. That thought alone kept me rooted to the earth.

I curled up in the closet and cried for a long time.

Buried under old coats and the scent of lavender sachets, I muffled my sobs in a forgotten Homecoming dress. We used to play hide-and-seek in this closet. Now I was hiding from the world. I couldn’t understand.

Evan and I were childhood friends. We’d known each other for years.

We’d raced bikes in the alley, shared secrets on the school bus, and dreamed about college in late-night texts. When our engagement was arranged, he was there and didn’t object.

He even told me, "Morgan, I can finally marry you."

How could he, while plotting to ruin me, still be so gentle?

His hands had trembled as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Now I wondered if he had rehearsed it all.

He said he loved me, yet he schemed against me at every turn.

I cried until there were no tears left.

Dad came once.

He made me sit at the kitchen table and listen while he lectured me for what felt like hours.

His voice was flat, barely above a whisper. It wasn’t anger—it was disappointment that stung.

I didn’t ask a single question, just sat obediently in front of Mom’s photo on the mantel.

The photo was from her college graduation—she looked so alive, so sure of herself. I hoped, wherever she was, she’d understand.

Just as I was about to fall asleep at the table, I heard noises outside.

A woman’s voice, soft and flirty.

A man’s voice, gentle and affectionate.

That voice was painfully familiar.

The den was quiet—perfect for secret meetings.

I saw Evan holding Willa in his arms, like he wanted to pull her into himself.

He kissed her, deep and lingering, not wanting to let go.

They were framed by the moonlight filtering through the window, oblivious to the world. Willa, breathing softly, reached to unbuckle his belt, but he stopped her.

"Willa, I can’t do this yet. Let’s wait until our wedding night."

I stared blankly.

So, he could be gentle and careful with the one he truly loved.

He was afraid of ruining her reputation.

I thought my tears were gone, but somehow they fell again.

I closed my eyes and looked at Mom’s photo.

"Mom, your daughter has been so foolish, and let you down."

I felt so small, so unworthy. The weight of my choices pressed against my chest.

"I’ll never love Evan again."

The words tasted like salt. I whispered them again for good measure, a promise to myself and to her.