DEAD AT HEART

The fireworks feel all wrong. Too loud, too joyful. It's like they don't belong to this moment at all.

Bright streaks snap open across the sky, each one scattering color over the dark city. People probably find it beautiful-something you'd stop to admire. Ariel just feels the opposite. She stands there, this strange disconnect tightening around her, knowing something in her life has spun out of place. No getting it back.

Every boom rattles her chest, vibrating against the empty pit that's settled inside her. Each crack of light reminds her that somewhere nearby, people are celebrating.

And somehow, she knows it's about her. Or, really, the fact that she's not there.

She steps forward, not because she wants to, but because music is drifting through the air now. It winds between the firework blasts, a thin melody calling her out of the hushed, clinical quiet of the hospital and into the open night.

The city changes with darkness. It's bolder now-stripped bare. Laughter travels further. The lights seem sharper, more honest. You see right through people, the way they loosen up after sunset, letting things slip that they'd guard behind closed doors in the day.

She follows the sound. No hurry, no real plan-just that feeling that she's walking a path laid out before she ever decided to take it.

Her heels ring out on the pavement, a rhythm that's almost comforting, like it ties her to the ground after everything else fell apart. Since the moment those words-three months-crashed into her world and stuck hard.

The music grows, swelling; voices blur into focus.

Then she sees the party.

It isn't hidden. If anything, it's flaunting itself-spilling onto a private terrace just around the corner from the building she was at last night. The same spot where things first started to unravel.

String lights hang overhead, all warm and golden. The guests look perfect-champagne in hand, smiles flashing, laughter rolling with the tide of the music. They move like celebration comes easy.

And in the middle of everyone: Jayson.

He hasn't changed from last night. Impeccable as ever-untouchable, even. Nothing out of place, nothing showing that anything has cracked. He rules this scene without even trying.

Next to him is her. The woman in red, though tonight her dress runs deeper, richer, as if she's adapting to the mood. Jewels flash at her throat every time she shifts-silent declarations nobody bothers to challenge.

They're close. Not just their bodies, but the sort of closeness that can't be faked-the way his hand hovers at her back, how her head tilts in to listen, the casual brushing of shoulders. It all says she's always belonged there.

That's the image. That's what Ariel is meant to see.

She stops-close, but just outside the circle of light. If she steps further, they'll see her. But she doesn't move. She doesn't walk away, either. She just stands there, watching.

A banner stretches over the gathering, easy to spot. The words are simple, bold under the glow.

New Beginning.

The phrase pulses with the crowd, the laughter, the music. New. Like something's been ditched. Beginning. Like whatever comes next is untouched, never weighed down by the mess that came before.

She stares at the words longer than she should. They feel directed at her. Maybe not for her, maybe not against her-just because of her.

A burst of laughter snaps her back. Nearby, a handful of guests crowd around Jayson and the woman. Their faces are bright, their gestures loose-alcohol and easy inside jokes smoothing every moment.

One man lifts his drink, high and practiced. "Congratulations!" he calls, loud enough for others to hear.

More faces turn. Glasses rise. "To new beginnings," someone chimes in. A chorus of approval answers back.

Jayson just nods, calmly soaking it in, unshaken as always.

The woman next to him tightens her grip on her glass. She leans toward Jayson, shoulder brushing his, like she can claim their future in that small touch.

Then someone else speaks-softer, sharper, more careless.

"On finally getting rid of her."

That line cuts straight through the noise. For a split second, everything halts. Not long, just enough for people to notice. Then, laughter. It bubbles up, starts gentle, then builds. Agreement follows in the space between breaths.

Ariel doesn't flinch. Even her face doesn't twitch. But inside, something moves-quietly, unmistakably. There's no surprise left, not from words like these. She let those things hurt her before, when she still had hope, when this was all fragile, uncertain.

Now, those words just settle into place, another piece of the picture. The truth is obvious: she was never more than a problem. An inconvenience. Something for them to celebrate leaving behind.

She looks back at Jayson. She doesn't want answers. She isn't searching for understanding anymore. She wants confirmation.

He doesn't laugh. Not openly. But he doesn't argue, doesn't step in, doesn't do anything at all-just lifts his glass, barely, takes a slow sip.

That's all she needs.

A long breath leaves her, steady and measured. She lets go of whatever scraps she was clinging to. The fireworks keep exploding overhead-wild bursts lighting up the party, turning glasses and diamonds and perfect hair into something glimmering, untouchable. It's all spectacle, all noise, insisting this is a beginning, not an ending. Or maybe both.

Her hand drifts to her bag and, almost without thinking, she finds her phone. The screen flashes on. She doesn't expect anything. She's learned to expect nothing. Silence. Nobody reaching across the gap for her anymore.

But then, a buzz. Sharp. Loud, somehow, above everything-the music, the laughter, the fireworks. For a moment, that vibration is the only thing in the world.

She looks down.

A name appears. One she hasn't seen in too long. Someone untouched by all of this-unconnected to Jayson, to the story that just ended.

Her breath catches.

Caller ID: Her Brother.

The phone keeps shaking in her hand, insistent, like the past refuses to let her stand there forever.

She doesn't answer. Not right away. She's stuck between two universes-the one behind her, loud and glittering and so ready to erase her, and the one reaching out with a single name on a screen.

Above Ariel, fireworks go off again. The laughter swells. The music rises. Her phone keeps ringing.