Seven Years, A Four-Year Lie

Ellery POV:

That night, Brendan insisted we go for a walk on the beach. It was his last night before his "business trip" to Miami-a trip I now knew was a romantic getaway with his pregnant mistress. He wanted to create one last perfect memory, a final coat of varnish on our rotting life.

He held my hand, his grip tight and proprietary, as we walked along the shoreline. He pointed out constellations, his voice a low, romantic murmur against the sound of the waves. He was playing the part of the man I fell in love with, and it was a masterful, sickening performance.

Suddenly, a loud boom echoed across the water, and the sky exploded in a shower of red and gold sparks. A firework. Then another, and another. A full, professional-grade display was erupting over the ocean, painting the dark sky with impossible colors.

People on the beach stopped, oohing and aahing.

"Wow, someone' s going all out," a woman near us said to her partner. "Must be a proposal."

I knew, with a certainty that settled like ice in my veins, that this wasn' t for a proposal. This was for me. Another grand, empty gesture. A fireworks display to distract from a four-year affair.

Brendan squeezed my hand and pointed to the sky. "Look, El. Look."

I looked. High above the water, the fireworks were forming letters. A giant, glittering B, then a +, then an E.

B + E. Brendan and Ellery.

"I love you, Ellery Rich," he whispered in my ear, his breath warm. "Always. Forever."

The crowd around us applauded. Brendan pulled me close, ignoring my stiff resistance, and kissed me. It was a public, performative kiss, and it felt like being branded with a hot iron.

A little girl, no older than five, with wide, wonder-filled eyes, ran up to me and thrust a pink glow stick into my hand. "For you," she said shyly. "You' re a princess."

Brendan beamed, ruffling her hair. "See? I' m not the only one who thinks so."

I looked from the little girl' s innocent face to Brendan' s handsome, lying one. The glow stick felt obscene in my hand, a symbol of a purity his world had tainted. I knelt down and gently handed it back to the little girl.

"Thank you, sweetie," I said, my voice soft. "But I think you should keep it. Some things are too beautiful to share with people who don't deserve them."

The little girl looked confused. Brendan looked annoyed.

"We' ll get you a dozen of them, El," he said, trying to pull me up.

"Brendan, do you want kids?" I asked, my voice cutting through his romantic charade.

He was taken aback. "We' ve talked about this, baby. I love our life, just the two of us. But… if you wanted them, of course I' d want them. I' d love a little girl. One who looks just like you."

His words, meant to be a loving promise, were a poisoned dart. He' d already promised a child to someone else. I could almost see Kiya' s smug face, hear her whispering, He wants a baby with me.

I almost said her name. I almost screamed it. The accusation was right there, burning on the tip of my tongue. But then I caught a glimpse of his neck in the flashing light of the fireworks.

A faint, purple mark, just below his ear. A hickey. Fresh. From the quick, desperate goodbye he must have given Kiya before coming home to play the doting husband.

The fight went out of me. There was no point. You can' t reason with a lie. You can only walk away from it.

"I' m tired," I said, turning away from the garish spectacle in the sky. "I want to go home."

As we were walking back to the car, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his expression instantly shifting from romantic lead to annoyed businessman.

"I have to take this," he said, his voice tight. "Company emergency."

He walked a few paces away. I didn' t need to hear the conversation. I could read it on his face. The initial irritation, the softening of his expression, the low, soothing murmurs.

"Yeah, yeah, I' m on my way," he said, ending the call and turning back to me, his face a mask of regret. "Baby, I' m so sorry. There' s a server crisis. I have to go to the office."

"It' s fine," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. "You go. I' ll get a ride."

He didn' t argue. He was already halfway to his car. "I' ll make it up to you! I' ll call you when I' m done!" he shouted over his shoulder before peeling out of the parking lot.

He was lying. He wasn t going to the office.

I watched his taillights disappear, then pulled out my own phone and opened the ride-share app. When the car arrived, I got in the back seat.

"See that black sedan that just left?" I asked the driver, my voice a dead calm. "Follow it. And don' t be seen."