Saving Him, Losing My Love

The first thing I felt when Jackson's eyes opened was relief so overwhelming it nearly brought me to my knees. After three months of watching him lie motionless in that hospital bed, after sacrificing the Celestial Fortune that had protected my family for generations, after giving him the sacred amulet that now hung around his neck—he was finally awake.

"Jackson," I whispered, reaching for his hand. "Thank God, you're—"

He pulled away before our fingers could touch, his gaze sliding past me as if I were invisible. "Where's my phone?"

Not 'thank you.' Not 'I love you.' Not even acknowledgment of the three months I'd spent by his side, holding vigil while he fought death itself.

"The doctors said you need rest," I managed, my voice catching. "Maybe we could—"

"I said where's my phone, Maia." His tone was sharp, dismissive. The same voice that used to whisper sweet promises now cut through me like glass.

Four days later, I sat alone at Lumière, our favorite restaurant where we'd shared our first anniversary dinner. The reservation was for seven—I'd booked it the moment the doctors confirmed Jackson was fully recovered. I'd imagined this moment countless times: him taking my hands across the candlelit table, tears in his eyes as he thanked me for saving his life, maybe even proposing properly this time.

The champagne I'd ordered sat warming in its bucket. Eight-fifteen. Eight-thirty. I checked my phone obsessively, each passing minute feeling like another small death.

At nine-twenty, the maître d' approached with practiced sympathy. "Miss Foster, perhaps—"

"He's coming," I said firmly, though my hands trembled as I smoothed my dress—the blue one Jackson always said brought out my eyes. "He's just... traffic."

The lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

At nine-forty-five, Jackson finally appeared in the doorway. But he wasn't alone.

Charleigh Stone clung to his arm like a second skin, her platinum hair cascading in perfect waves, her red dress so tight it looked painted on. I recognized her immediately—the Instagram influencer with two million followers who posted daily about her "blessed life" and designer everything.

Jackson's eyes found mine across the restaurant, and for a split second, I thought I saw something flicker there. Guilt, maybe. Or recognition of what this moment should have been.

Then Charleigh laughed, a tinkling sound that carried across the dining room, and whatever I'd glimpsed vanished.

They approached our table—my table, the one I'd reserved for our reunion—and Jackson pulled out a chair. Not for me. For her.

"Maia," he said casually, as if we'd run into each other at a coffee shop instead of this being our first dinner since he'd nearly died. "You remember Charleigh."

I stared at him, my mouth dry as desert sand. "Jackson, what—"

"Dom Pérignon 2012," he told the hovering sommelier, not even glancing at the champagne I'd already ordered. "Your best bottle."

Charleigh giggled, pressing closer to him. "You're so generous, baby. I don't deserve all this."

Baby. The pet name he'd never used with me, not even in our most intimate moments.

"Jackson." My voice came out smaller than I intended. "Could we talk? Privately?"

He finally looked at me directly, and the coldness in his eyes made my chest constrict. "Whatever you need to say, you can say in front of Charleigh. We don't have secrets."

The sommelier returned with the champagne, popping the cork with a festive sound that felt obscene in the circumstances. Jackson poured two glasses, sliding one to Charleigh while completely ignoring my presence.

"To new beginnings," he said, clinking his glass against hers.

Charleigh extended her wrist as she reached for her champagne, and my breath caught. A diamond tennis bracelet caught the candlelight, each stone easily a carat, the kind of piece that cost more than most people's cars.

"It's beautiful," I whispered, though the words felt like swallowing broken glass.

"Isn't it?" Charleigh beamed, rotating her wrist to make the diamonds dance. "Jackson surprised me with it this afternoon. He said I deserved something special."

I looked at Jackson, searching his face for any trace of the man who'd once promised to love me forever. "Jackson, we're engaged. We're supposed to be planning our wedding. I don't understand what's happening."

He leaned back in his chair, one arm draped possessively around Charleigh's shoulders, and smiled. It was the cruelest expression I'd ever seen.

"Relax, Maia." His voice was honey-smooth and poisonous. "I'm just practicing for when we're married. You wouldn't want an inexperienced husband, would you?"

The restaurant seemed to tilt around me. The other diners, the soft piano music, the warm glow of the chandeliers—everything blurred as his words hit me like physical blows.

"Practicing?" I repeated numbly.

Charleigh giggled again, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. "He's so thoughtful, isn't he? Making sure he knows how to treat a woman properly."

Tears burned my eyes, but I blinked them back. Not here. Not in front of her. "Jackson, please. Can't we just—"

"God, Maia, you're so emotional." He shook his head as if I were a child throwing a tantrum. "This is exactly why I need to work on my patience. Your emotional instability is going to be a real challenge in marriage."

He stood abruptly, helping Charleigh to her feet with the gentleness he'd never shown me. "Thanks for dinner," he said carelessly. "The bill's on you, right? You always were good at taking care of things."

They walked away together, Charleigh's laughter trailing behind them like perfume, leaving me alone at a table set for celebration, surrounded by the wreckage of everything I'd believed about love.