Chapter 3: Letting Go

2

Since I learned about Rachel’s affair, this was the first time I’d hung up first. It felt like taking back something small but real—like finding your car keys after searching for hours. The quiet that followed wasn’t comforting, but it was mine.

Before, I was the one bombarding her with calls and texts—cursing, pleading, my phone glowing blue in the dark. Every time, Rachel would snap, “Can you stop acting like a lunatic? Talk to me when you’ve calmed down.” Then she’d hang up, ice-cold.

No matter what I did, she ignored me. I wanted to let go, but the thought of ending years together like this made me desperate, out of control. I wanted to ask why she betrayed me, or beg her to come back.

But Rachel never changed. I became anxious and insecure, a resentful ex—just like she said. I was lost in that torment for a long time.

Until three days ago, when I saw that YouTuber’s video.

The question was: [What would you say to yourself five years ago?] People answered with dreams, regrets, and hopes. Then I saw Rachel and Jason, and it was clear this wasn’t staged. Even top reporters would need an appointment to see her now, but this YouTuber just caught her on the street.

At first, Rachel looked annoyed by the interview, lips pressed thin, shifting her weight. Jason was into it. “Come on, Rach, let’s try it.” He put his arm around her, coaxing. Rachel gave in. When the YouTuber asked, Jason hesitated. Rachel answered for both of them: “If possible, I hope the Rachel from five years ago could have met Jason first.” She looked at him, voice steady, hand tight in his. Jason echoed, “Me too.”

They squeezed each other’s hands, lost in their own world on that busy sidewalk.

3

The video already had tens of thousands of likes. The pulsing red heart icon mocked me. Comments scrolled by: [Wow, this couple is gorgeous!], [Manifesting a love like this], [So sweet, wishing you forever!]

I stared blankly. Did Rachel really like Jason that much? Had she forgotten? Five years ago, we’d just gotten married. We were broke, but happy. Now she was saying she wished she’d met Jason first.

I thought I’d be furious, ready to smash things, but I just sat there, numb. The comments washed over me, meaningless.

It was like something broke apart inside. Suddenly, I felt nothing. Obsession and understanding can both hit in a single moment. That’s why I made the call. I watched my reflection in my phone’s screen, feeling strangely light, as if the old pain had burned itself out.

4

Rachel sent me a message—her number unblocked for the first time in months. She told me to come to her office Monday to discuss the divorce with her lawyer. Once the agreement was set, we’d sign and wait out the cooling-off period.

[Okay.]

On Monday, I arrived at Rachel’s company—one of those glass towers downtown with a security desk and a wall of TVs streaming cable news. I wore my best blazer, though the lining was falling apart. At the front desk, the receptionist called up. “Yes, a Ms. Melissa.” I was told to go to the executive floor. A secretary I didn’t know greeted me—Rachel must’ve hired her after we split.

“Ms. Melissa, please wait here. Ms. Carter is in a meeting.” She led me to a reception room. The cold leather of the sofa pressed against my legs, the air heavy with the smell of burnt coffee and floor polish. Heels echoed on the marble as people hurried past. I remembered when I used to wait in Rachel’s office, with books and Blu-rays to keep me busy, or nap in her lounge. Now, my things were gone, replaced by someone else’s. I was just another visitor.

I waited quietly. There was plenty of time. But after two hours, no one called me in. “Excuse me, has Ms. Carter’s meeting ended?” I asked. The secretary hesitated. “Ms. Carter is still in a meeting...”

I frowned. Then I heard laughter and voices nearby: “Let’s go to that new bistro for lunch together.” “Sure.” The sound of keys, the elevator opening—two voices I knew by heart.