Now I’m Someone Else’s Bride

In the past, a post like that would have sent me into a spiral. I’d have bombarded him with questions, and when my jealousy inevitably annoyed him, I’d have spent all night apologizing.

Liam knew it would hurt me. He knew it would make me jealous. He pushed my boundaries relentlessly. Over the years, he'd conditioned me to be the perfect, pliable girlfriend he could control with a push and a pull. But abandoning me at our wedding was the last string he’d ever get to pull.

He seemed to forget his little training sessions only worked for one reason: because I loved him.

Liam spammed his feed with more updates—photos of him and Scarlett in poses that were far too intimate. In one, he kissed her forehead. I didn't feel a thing.

I was busy. I was planning a wedding with my actual groom-to-be. Communicating with him was effortless. He didn't just agree with my decisions; he built on them, offering suggestions that elevated them. He’d even created a private Pinterest board for our future home, already filled with my favorite architectural styles and interior designs.

Focusing on these wonderful new things brought a genuine smile to my face. A smile that might have lasted longer if a message from Liam hadn't popped up.

"Are you still sulking? I sent you souvenirs, didn't I? Even some of that local art."

"I'm sure you saw the new pictures of me and Scarlett. Hope you haven't been crying your eyes out."

"This is what happens when you give me the silent treatment. Just say you're sorry, and I'll change my profile picture back."

It was the same old script. No matter who was at fault, Liam always twisted the narrative until I was the unreasonable one. He was a master of it.

I'd once accused him of gaslighting me. He'd just scoffed and said he was "just being honest."

Now, with the clarity of distance, I could see our entire relationship for what it was. He never saw me as a partner, only as an object, a territory whose borders he could endlessly test.

When I didn't reply, he took my silence as surrender. He sent an insulting webcomic image with a message: "Scarlett said this is a perfect representation of our 'friendship.' Let's use these for our matching profile pictures. I'll take this one, you take that one."

It was a cartoon of a tall, confident male figure, trailed by a pathetic, cowering shadow.

I wasn't amused.

Liam, however, didn't wait for my opinion. He’d already changed his profile picture to the male figure.

I replied, "You and Scarlett can use them. I don't like it."

"Fine. See if I care," Liam shot back, his message laced with irritation.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, he and Scarlett had matching profile pictures. They even tagged me in an Instagram Story with the caption: "She told us to use them. Friends should support each other."

I muted his notifications, turned off my phone, and started packing. I spent the whole night stuffing my life into boxes and purging everything that reminded me of Liam. Not a single gift he'd ever given me was spared.